


Mercy Redux

by AnnetheCatDetective



Series: Mercyverse [3]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-12
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-11 23:49:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 25,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnetheCatDetective/pseuds/AnnetheCatDetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mercy from BLU Spy's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The refrigerator is dark, save the bright cherry of my cigarette—not really my cigarette, even, and not a very good one, but better than nothing. And after all, it is the only small pleasure I am allowed, in this nightmare world my life has become.

At least the RED Medic gives me that… it is the only thing which stops me from the awful smell of the mayonnaise, almost overpowering my first night in the refrigerator. I had never wanted to retch so badly, and been completely disconnected from my own digestive tract.

Then the door opens, and when my eyes adjust, I see not the Medic—with his empty promises of ‘later’—but the RED Sniper.

“Holy dooley!”

Ah. So he sees me as well. The Medecin has not prepared him for the contents of the refrigerator, clearly. But, he has never balked at ending my life before, he could be my salvation.

“… Kill me?” I ask—weak, I am hoarse from disuse, and from trying to smoke endless cigarettes where the smoke has no place to go but my throat.

Instead, he slams the door shut in my face. Well, perhaps I cannot blame him.

The door opens again, almost immediately, and that at least gives me some hope.

“Please, kill me,” I repeat.

“I can’t—I don’t—What are you? I—“ The Sniper sputters.

“Please?” I have no bargaining chip, beyond a prayer for basic human decency, or if that fails, a mindless want for vengeance, but I have not been there to kill him for so long that there is little hope of that.

“I can’t.” He insists. “I’m just here for a beer, if I mess with his stuff, the Doc’ll have my—erm, that is…”

“Please.” It’s all I have. I am not accustomed to being left with nothing but the truth and optimism for the actions of my fellow man, but all my usual weapons are gone. “I don’t want to live like this.”

For a moment, when his hand closes around the beer, I fear he will ignore me, perhaps try to drink me away, but then his hand flicks past my neck to unplug me from the battery I am hooked into.

“That might kill you.” He glances away, and the edges of my vision blur. “If it does, you did it yourself. If it doesn’t, and he asks, you did it yourself.”

“Thank you.” His meaning is clear, and I would honour it even if he had not made plain the wish. His medic was never to know of his complicity in my death. And I would die, I could feel it coming. Already I was beginning to feel the lack of lungs, already my blood was slowing…

Whether he watched me die or not, I cannot know. I wake in the same room as always, my body and my personal effects the same as always. I cannot help it—I laugh.

The next day, I stab the horrible RED medic in the back as many times as I can catch him, even disguising myself as the lumbering fat one to call for help, when I see him on his own, to make the betrayal sting the most. He grows wary of some of my disguises, but there is never a time he won’t run to help the Heavy, no matter how wary he might be. The off chance spurs him each time.

I know—I had seen enough, in the brief moments when my refrigerator had been open—to surmise. It has been a long time since I have needed to speak German, and back then, I never needed to know any tender words, but I have overheard enough as well. It is not difficult to take advantage.

When the good doctor is nowhere to be seen, I return to doing my job, sapping their Engineer’s little toys, taking out other targets as they present themselves to me, furthering our objectives, but…

I found the Sniper’s little temporary nest. It should have been the same as any other time, his focus on the battle below as he waited for a new victim, his back spread out like a gift to me. Instead, I could barely keep from dropping my knife, I ran in the other direction to get away from him, from the memory of him, from thoughts of him…

He was there, if not when I died, at least when I lost consciousness, he was there. He gave me my release, even though it might be seen as treason. And… and he is handsome. Of course he is handsome, he has always been. No film star, no, but… but my type, rugged and lean, his features pleasing enough. Close combat with him is electric, and yes, sometimes for the wrong reasons, but…

But now that he has given me my death—with it my life again— it is not combat I want from him. I want to feel him in my arms, yes, but not struggling to survive, not anymore. I want him to know what it meant to me, to be set free from that hell, and I want… I want to repay the kindness somehow.

I want to know him. I have never wanted to know anyone, not since I was a child. I feel as stupid as a child now, when I think of him, of his hand coming so near my face so that he could unhook the battery, I feel a perfect fool and yet I don’t want to give that stupid feeling up. Beau, beau, beau, et con a la fois… What else is there to say?

I try to put some small part of this on paper—the gratitude, at least, if nothing else. It takes me three drafts, and I burn the rejects in my waste paper basket, lest my communiqué fall into the wrong hands.

I place the final draft of the letter into an old basket, along with a book from the base’s ‘library’—calling it that is a joke, of course, but out here it is all we have, aside from any personal collections. This set of bases is a remote one, and there is no television, barely any radio. I have no reason to believe the other side has it better, it seems to me that a book he hasn’t yet read is as good a thank you gift as any, when it comes to combating the terrible boredom.

I include as well the last of the Red Shed—at least, the last as far as I know. Again, with the mounting boredom of the more remote locations, I hope that anything will be better than nothing. And… and if nothing else, it reminds me of the reason we met there to begin with.

Silly. Stupid. Sentimental. But true—he came looking for a beer, only for a beer, and found me, and freed me… So, now, I will grant him a beer without the additional unpleasant surprise of finding a human head.

It is risky making it onto RED’s base after hours, and there is a part of me deathly afraid of winding up inside that refrigerator again, but the Sniper lives in a van, I do not need to enter the building at all, merely sneak past, around back, to where he is parked.

I leave the basket, and make my exit before I can change my mind, before I can scatter the ashes of my foolish letter to the winds, stuff the book into my pocket hurl the beer at the fence, stomp the basket to pieces in a fury at how stupid I am, how stupid and foolish and…

I did not want to fall in love with the enemy Sniper. Perhaps there is yet time to convince myself that this is not what has happened. At least he has my thanks… I will just have to guard myself more carefully from now on, in thoughts of him, in dealings with him on the battlefield. I will just have to police myself, screw courage to the sticking point and do my job, forget about the way he appeared in the blinding light and took pity on me, the strange euphoria as death began to take me and the fact that he was the last image to burn itself on my brain. Forget all this, and I will be fine.

Oh, merde.


	2. Chapter 2

We move back to Teufort—eventually, we always do. It is not much, but… I suppose the little hamlet is the nearest to home I have, currently. At least I have my habitual pied-a-terre in the local hotel, and the hotel is not far from the bar.

The bar, I could use. The combat does not wear on me, but the Sniper does. Whenever I venture near him, my courage flees me. I am a stoic killer of men all the rest of the time, but I cannot repay his act of kindness with a knife in the back. Far from fading with time, my strange fondness for the man has only grown. In watching him, silently, I have come to know some of his little habits and rituals on the battlefield. I have come to know so much and not nearly enough.

I waste too much time on him, but there you have it. It is better, when I tell myself not to seek him out at the start. At least that way, I can go after the others on his team. Continue my campaign of petty revenge against the mad doctor. At least that way, I can pretend that it is merely by virtue of not meeting him that I do not take my stabs at him, and not because I am helpless around him.

I do not like to feel helpless…

The bar in Teufort is the dustiest and the saddest such establishment I have ever been in, and the selection leaves much to be desired, but there is gin, cheap though it may be, and vermouth, and a bartender who knows how to mix them well enough. The quality may be lacking, but it is as dry as the desert it is mixed in, and that is all I really require out of a martini, when it all comes down to the bottom line.

“Mercenary, huh?” The bartender says. It seems the extent of his conversation skills, and so I merely nod.

I keep my gaze on the mirror behind the bar, on the door. If I cannot have a wall at my back, I can have the mirror. Force of habit, I suppose, for we are supposed to remain civil in town, not to fight outside our working hours. We are not supposed to interact with the other team much at all, I think. The Soldier’s plight illustrated the point neatly.

I do not care, though. Not when the door swings open and I see the man I had alternately stalked and avoided looking back at me in the dusty glass. My heart stops and lodges itself in my throat, and I cough for the barman and force myself to look away from the Sniper’s reflection.

“My friend has just come in, Monsieur. I owe him a drink, from when we were out-of-town. Make it the best in the house, s’il vous plait.”

“Your money.” He shrugs. I settle my tab every weekend, after all, and I have money I do not spend. The most expensive thing in this horrid place wouldn’t put a dent in my wallet even if I did.

After a time, the Sniper joins me.

“Thought you bought the last round.” He lifts his glass in my direction.

The Red Shed? I snort. “Those wretched things are like horse piss.”

There is a clear ‘and how would you know that?’ just in the tilt of his head and the quirk of his eyebrow, and for my part I am half tempted to make the argument that he is the expert on piss between us, but I say nothing.

“Well, next one’s on me.” He shrugs.

I smile, and I am grateful for my mask, with the heat I can feel flooding my cheeks. I very much look forward to this ‘next one’, and I toss back the rest of my drink, and watch him do the same.

“So, how has the war been going for you of late?” I ask.

“Oh, you know. It goes.” He shrugs. “How’s the, uh, body?”

“My body is spectacular, thank you.”

He coughs, and summons the bartender again. “All right, mate, what’ve you got?”

The man shrugs. The Sniper looks at me a moment, then back to the bartender. “Have you got something French? My… friend, here, is French. I oughtta… oughtta buy wine or something, long as it’s my turn to buy the drinks, yeah?”

“Kind of you, if not wholly necessary. Besides, I doubt—“

“This is the only bottle we have.” The bartender announces, pulling it from its place under the bar.

“I’ll take it.” The Sniper slaps a couple of bills down on the bar. There are no proper wine glasses, so once the bottle is open, he merely pours into the tumbler and martini glass we already have.

It makes for an… interesting taste, but nothing worth complaining about, and not when the company I am in is so handsome.

We sip at it—not excellent, but on its own merits, not terrible—and discuss life, the war, the amusement and madness encapsulated in light anecdotes and easy laughter, and when we discuss cinema, I swear his touch rests along my arm so much longer than it needs to…

“Oi, it’s a dead zone up there, last place we were at? That single radio station about drove me up the wall.” He draws back at last, but even then his hand drags down my sleeve almost reluctantly.

“Mm. Always the… the more inoffensive rock and roll? Yes. It is not to my tastes, either. Not that I suppose we enjoy the same music. I… I do not know much about Australian music.” I return the touch, though I do not dare linger too long. His bare forearm is warm, even through my glove I can feel the heat of his skin.

“Some of it’s all right. I don’t know much about French music.” He grins lazily over at me, and my heart goes right back up into my throat at that…

“Some of it is all right.” I joke.

He pulls a cigarette from one of his vest pockets, and a matchbook, and when he struggles to get the match to light, I lean over with my lighter to provide a flame.

“Cheers.” He nods.

“De rien.” I do not draw back yet this time. He accepted the gesture, and when the moment stretches on and he neither leans back from me nor pushes me back from him, I feel a little bolder.

I fill our glasses, the third for each of us now, and try to plot out my offer. “I still feel in your debt.”

“All right. You can buy us another round after this.” He smiles, raises his glass in a toast, and I am glad he feels this relaxed around me, considering our history, but it is not a long night of drinking I have in mind.

“No, no, that… that is not enough…”

He shrugs, but he does not make a move yet. Very well. I know how to skate along the razor’s edge of subtlety.

“If there’s ever anything else I can do…” I do not make a show of ogling him, merely let my glance fall to his lap for half a moment, let my eyelids lower just so. To lick my lips would be crude, a look will suffice. It is clear enough what I wish to give.

“Excuse me a minute,” He throws himself off his stool, staggers outside, but I do not think he is so drunk. Repressed, then?

I give him a moment, but I do follow. I don’t know if I should apologize, it seemed to me as if he had some interest in me, when we were in the bar, touching lightly as we laughed over inconsequential things, joking back and forth. Still, I don’t want to let things go, not like this.

He is standing in the street, but the whole town is empty, there is not much danger of a car coming.

“Do you want to talk?” I join him, keep my voice free from the flirtation of earlier.

“Might not be a good idea, all things considered.”

“If you change your mind… Through tonight, I have a room in the hotel.”

“That’s definitely not a good idea.”

“To talk.” I press. “If you want to. Talk. Room three-oh-two. I am going there now… the last real chance for quiet, before the working week. I hope you do change your mind. I feel… I feel we should discuss this, perhaps.”

No response comes, and I do not wait long for one. If he wishes to speak with me, even if it is only to tell me I was mistaken, then he can find me. If he would rather pretend it did not happen, then… Well, it is not the worst thing to happen to me, if I do not have him. Perhaps in time I will even get over this silly infatuation.

Still, when I do reach my room, I cannot still myself for more than a second. I leap between the bed and the chair, I pace the floor ‘til I can imagine leaving a permanent depression in the floorboards. At the first knock, I am opening the door.

“Were you watching through the peephole all this time?” He asks, one eyebrow raised, his lips in a smirk.

“Pacing, actually.” I still can’t quite still myself, but at least the truth is less ridiculous and embarrassing than the notion of standing there with my eye glued to the peephole. “You came at just the right moment, I was passing the door.”

“Look, I’m not sure why I came.” He glances away, looks around the room.

“That’s fine.” I say, tone mild. If I push too hard, he will bolt, but if I leave him too much room, he will wriggle himself free and run just as sure. And I did not imagine those moments between us. Still, I suppose that much of the world holds little tolerance for the homophile, it is not unreasonable to think he has reservations about pursuing a man. Not unreasonable to think he has only pursued women in the past, or lived chastely in his van in the wilderness. “Perhaps it’s all… sudden, for you. But I was not the only one who leaned into the space between us, down in the bar. And your hand reached for my arm. You can play the virgin if you like, but you cannot play the naïf.”

There. My voice is not harsh or accusing, nor too warm, but the lines have been drawn. There will be no lying, no denial, but there is still room to back away from more. It would disappoint me, yes, but I cannot answer for him. I can only make my own position clear.

“No. No, reckon not.”

“It’s all right with me if it’s only talk tonight.” I assure him. “The room is mine every weekend, whether I use it or not. When I am not trapped in some sadistic medic’s refrigerator. Again, thank you.”

“Thanked me enough.” He shrugs, blushes. Charming…

“If you say.” I sit on the bed, and after a moment’s deliberation he takes the chair I have left him. “As I said, the room is mine every weekend. From Friday night to Sunday morning, I am here. If you ever wish to do more than just talk, I will be here. If you never do…”

I try to pretend at least a little cool, I turn my eyes from his to protect myself, but I look back, and maybe in that moment I give away more than I intend.

“You’d rather I say yes.”

“Of course I would rather you say yes.”

“Why?” He shifts, uncomfortable, and I had not really expected the question…

Still, I suppose I can do my best to answer it, with honesty, yes, but with some distance and dignity also. “Why not? Are you not lonely? We do not have many opportunities out here… not many. Sometimes one gets lucky, one willing to take the risks, but… I have always been too careful, until you… Mon sauveur, you opened that door, and for that moment, you were… you were the world for me. You granted me my release, that is a big part of it. Even if we met in town, without that… I could have pretended that you were not my enemy, and greeted you politely, but I would not have taken the risk.”

It feels good, to admit so much. Feels safe, to have as much discretion as I managed.

“I don’t—“ He shakes his head, but cannot finish. Still, no great leap of intuition to think he is speaking of the refrigerator—he had been uncomfortable with the subject earlier, and with facing too much gratitude.

“My apologies, of course. We won’t speak of the… incident, further. Needless to say it occurred. And so I had to notice you. To think of you. To see you when I close my eyes, sometimes. So I took the risk—and it is a risk, isn’t it? Whenever I am outside my own country, it seems so…” I stop myself from saying anything overtly rude about the barbarism of outlawing the practice of any sex between consenting adults, but it has always struck me as stupid. And, of course, inconvenient, for one who is so inclined. I rephrase the main thrust of my point. “You express an interest in another man, and he takes it as an affront.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t take that sort of risk myself, normally.” He says, body language prickly, tone gruff, but he does not say he lacks the desire.

“If a little thing like that threatens a man’s masculinity, then it must not be a very certain thing.” I say lightly. Then my eyes land on him again, and I cannot help some heat. “But not you… your masculinity is a real thing. You live a difficult life, not because circumstances force you, but because the rewards are sweeter and the lessons learned are richer, when the work is bloody and the life is hard. You are professional, your work is clean, and I admit, I have been impressed by you. But, as I said, had we not… met, the way that we did… I doubt I would have approached you this way.”

“Yeah, well…” He looks pleased with the praise, before he restores his scowl. “You’ve done some good work yourself, haven’t you? At my expense, often as not.”

My answering laughter is not unkind. “Not quite that often. But yes, perhaps more than some of the others. You are a tempting target. You are so focused… but you put up a good fight if I tip my hand too early. May I be honest?”

“Too late not to be, isn’t it now?”

I laugh again, softly, and allow my foot to touch his, only just, as I sense his guard dropping. If he draws back, then I will do the same, and restore our borders, but if he allows the flirtation…

“Once,” I confess. “I let you hear me coming, when I was close enough to stop you from getting at your blade right away. I was curious…”

“Yeah, you’re real curious, ain’t ya?” He says it with some attempt at teasing scorn, but… it is not an insult, if it is true.

“Who would come out on top, if it was just you, and me.” I continue, voice low. “No guns, no knives.”

It had been an enjoyable experiment, as it lasted. I had discarded my own weapons, focused instead on keeping him from his, so that the contest would not end too quickly, so that I could see for myself how strong he was without the aid of a knife or a gun. We are closely matched, but I found him just a little bit stronger then—no telling how much is down to adrenaline, but he had me on my back, the length of his body pinning me down, and even in those days before my feelings for him were warm, there was some physical attraction, at least on my part.

Our Pyro burst in before the fight could become interesting—or embarrassing—and the airblast knocked us apart—knocked the Sniper out the window.

“We didn’t get much time to test that, did we?” He lets out a brief laugh, also remembering.

“We could test it now.” I offer in a whisper. “We will not be interrupted.”

He rockets to his feet. Too much, you fool, too much…

“Dunno if I can do this, mate.”

I stand and place a hand on his elbow. “I understand. The war is between us, always. I can understand not wanting to… to embark on this. But I will be here, every weekend, whether you come or not. So, just remember. You can always change your mind.”

“Haven’t made my mind up yet.” He shakes his head.

“You can still change it.” I promise. “You can always change it.”

My hand falls away, slow, I don’t want to stop touching him. He can’t meet my gaze, looks me in the eye and away several times in short succession.

“I’m going to leave now. But next weekend I’ll be sober.” He takes a step back, but it is also slow. And perhaps… perhaps he does not truly want to stop being touched. “And I’ll think about it.”

“Mm. Perhaps it is a good decision to make sober.” I smile and lean back from him, to show there are no hard feelings in his going. “At the very least, if we are both sober next weekend, it means the performance will not suffer.”

He sputters out his response, and I walk him to the door, keeping a respectful distance between us, but I allow my smile to remain flirtatious. At this point, it does not seem to harm anything if I do.

When he is gone, I strip out of my suit and lie back on my bed and think about the way it could have gone, if, instead of shying away from me down in the bar, he had come up to the hotel with me after I first offered to do anything to thank him.

‘Anything?’, he would have asked, with a challenge in his voice, and I would have said ‘Monsieur, anything’. I imagine his hand skating along my cheek, imagine going to my knees to worship at his altar… His cock, I think, must be long… not too thick, but solid all the same. To fit the rest of him. I imagine him whispering to me, suck at my own fingers as I pump myself—a poor substitution, but as long as I am relegated to the land of make-believe…

It’s quick, and it leaves me cold, but at least afterward, I can sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

I manage to avoid him well enough during the week to follow, afraid that I might not be able to fight my lust the next time. When the weekend comes, when the knock on my hotel room door comes, I do not dare hope too hard, but it is him I see through the peephole.

“I didn’t think you’d come.” I let him in. “I feel like I should offer you something, but the hotel… he is not long on amenities. You’ll have to forgive me for being a less than perfect host.”

“Well,” He smirks a little—not wholly comfortable, perhaps, but game. “You’re offering me one thing.”

“I am.” I laugh. “More than one thing, have some imagination.”

“Been thinking about it.” His gaze drops to the floor.

“You’ve been thinking about having an imagination?”

“Ass.” His eyes snap back up to me, half glare and half grin. “I thought about all of it. I want to, yeah. We can do whatever… whatever you think—I haven’t got experience, with other—We can… I’ll follow your lead for a while, I guess is what’ll happen. But only if you let me do one thing.”

I should have known… that is not the way a man asks for a normal favor, that is the way a man asks to have his deepest, darkest, worst desire satisfied. It’s… it’s the Jarate, isn’t it? Does he get off on that?

Still… if it would mean I could make love to him… after all, he’s doused me in piss a hundred times on the battlefield anyway, it wouldn’t be anything new, I could bathe after. And then he would be mine, he would be in my arms, I could kiss him and love him, I could spend hours in bed with him…

“This once.” I allow. “Only this once. I… could endure anything once. How would you like me?”

On my knees, I expect—it’s not as though he actually has a jar on his person, if I were on the floor, he’d be able to… well… I mean, it wouldn’t take much time, not comparatively. Or lying down, perhaps.

“Just stand there,” He strokes my face.

I can’t help pressing into the touch, I am starved for it. Celibacy does not suit me, but it has been a necessary part of life. To be touched at all is marvelous, to be touched by him moreso. He looses my tie, and I suppose it would be best, to be able to remove my suit before… before whatever happens, happens. Then he tugs at the edge of my mask.

“It’s all right?” He murmurs.

“You want the balaclava off?” It gives me a moment’s pause. I didn’t think to wonder, if he would want to see me without it. I hadn’t built my hopes up high enough to think that through. I’ve never taken it off for anyone, not while I was engaged to a client. When I work, I sleep in the mask, when I work, I barely take it off long enough to wash my face and hair, and even that I do every other day. I live in the mask.

“Yeah,” He answers, with an almost desperate breathiness, and I cannot deny him, no matter how I should.

I nod just once, but it’s all I need to do. His hands shake slightly, he moves slowly. He buries his face against my throat, I feel him breathe me in deep and I barely stop the moan.

“And then?”

“Then I guess you take over.” He answers, his lips moving across my skin when he does.

I lean away, far enough to meet his eyes. “All you wanted was to remove it? Cher…”

I help him to pull the balaclava off. I hadn’t expected this to be his only request—I never would have expected him to be so nervous about requesting it, either. It is… sweet, I think.

“All I wanted.” He smiles at me. I am suddenly aware of how I must look, the tan around my eyes and mouth, the too-pale skin everywhere but, my hair a complete mess.

He smiles, though, and does not laugh, and touches my cheek once more, and perhaps I am pleasant enough to look at in spite of all this. Still… when it is on, I can always imagine myself to be perfectly handsome. Once it is off, if I catch my reflection, I see every flaw…

“I said I could endure anything once.” I say wryly. “Though I’ll admit it’s a blow to my vanity… you could have told me you wondered what I looked like a week ago and I’d have been ready for you. Now I am a mess… and the tan lines are unfortunate…”

He removes his hat and takes a half-step closer to me. “Nah, it’s not so bad. I… kind of interesting, isn’t it? Besides, I’m no looker.”

If he is no looker, then I shudder to think what that means for the rest of the populace…

“Au contraire…” I wrap my arms about his neck and lean up to bridge the gap between our mouths. When he relaxes, I open my lips, and when he does the same, I slip my tongue into his mouth to explore. He kisses back, passion replacing stiffness—well, replacing awkwardness.

He rests his hands on my waist and licks his way into my mouth with a soft growling moan that sets my blood aflame. He may have little experience with lovemaking, but with kissing, he is more than adequate, and it is a pleasure to let him take control.

When we do stop kissing, I leave my arms around him, my body against his. “I think you’re handsome. For a bushman. No, I… I do think you’re… You have a magnetism. You are interesting, to me. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you the kind of thoughts I have about your hands sometimes…”

“You could tell me.” He smirks.

“Oh?” I smirk back. “On Monday… I am going to find you on the battlefield. I will not hurt you. I will not bother you at all. But I will watch you work… So focused, and those hands… cradling the length of your rifle… the absent caress when you must wait too long for a good target. The slow way you load a new round when you have the luxury of time, and the way your finger squeezes the trigger, sure…”

“Sounds like you’ve… done that before.” He swallows hard.

“Temps du temps.” I can feel him hard against my thigh, and he must notice how hard I am now as well, just thinking about it. If I could have those hands on me the way I have seen them touch that rifle… I could die happy a million times for just one night under those hands.

“How’d we wind up like this?” He breathes the words out.

“Il n’y a que les montagnes qui ne se recontrent jamais.”

“Uh-huh.” He moves us towards the bed, and that he takes the initiative is promising. “That’s encouraging, then.”

“It is, in a way.” I laugh, holding him close even as we start our tumble towards the bed. “Only the mountains never meet.”

“Ah.”

“The rest is fate.” I kiss him, from the pulse point below his jaw, to his adam’s apple, as I open his shirt, and he does the same, his teeth closing gently on my skin.

“What did you think I wanted from you?” He asks. “When you said you could endure anything once.”

Well… This is embarrassing. “I don’t know.”

“Come on.”

“No, really.” I say. “Your trepidation… I thought perhaps you had some deviancy in mind if you were that worried.”

“Come on, what’d you think?” He undresses me a bit more, but his mouth does not return to my throat where it very much belongs.

“I don’t know. That you’d want to piss on me or something.” I say it as dismissively as I can and hope he has a laugh over it and forgets about the whole thing.

He sits back, and now he is touching even less of me. Damn.

“Why the hell would I want to do that?”

“How should I know?” I snatch my tie out of the air as he drops it. “I am not the one who hoards jars of the stuff!”

“That is a tactical… battle application, of certain resources.” He sputters. “It’s got nothing to do with sexual… fetishes. Wait, you would’ve let me?”

“Well, it’s not like it would be an entirely new experience.” I shrug. “I’d rather do it in bed than right before being shot or stabbed, I don’t see how… Well, I mean… I said I’d endure it, so what of that?”

“You must really want to fuck me.” He sounds impressed. And surprised, which by now he really shouldn’t be. I have been making it clear just how badly I want him, haven’t I?

“Yes.” I take hold of him, bring him back down on top of me. “I want to. I want you to fuck me. I want to suck you… I want to touch you, and look at you. All of that.”

There. He cannot possibly mistake that for anything but what it is.


	4. Chapter 4

He falls asleep in my bed, after we have supper and make love again, a loose scattering of long limbs that sometimes come to rest against me, and I stroke his forearm as he slumbers, watch him in the half-light.

He is handsome... it is a hard-edged handsomeness, though, one carved by long hours of sand and sun and wind... His body is fine, sinewy, perhaps more muscular than my own... the carpet of chest hair, the trail down from his navel to the thick thatch of curls below... The breadth of his palms, the sharp angles of his shoulders and elbows, every part of him is fascinating, and when he sleeps, I can look my fill, without facing censure or amusement.

"Go ta sleep." He mutters, rolling over.

Hm. Perhaps not.

When the temperature in the room drops enough, I drape myself over his back, and he hums and doesn't shake me off.

When I wake again in the morning, he is on his back, and I am on his chest, our legs tangled together.

"Well. Good morning." He chuckles, tugging me to rest more fully atop him. "How'd we wind up like this, then?"

"I don't know. How would you rather wind up?" I roll my hips against his, and he groans and clutches at my ass, moving me against him, and I push back just to feel his strength before I just let myself go with it. The inside of his mouth is stale in the early morning, but even so, a willing mouth holds certain pleasures... he does not ask that I stop kissing him, and so I do not.

After he comes, I sit up, and he reaches for me. Both our eyes move to where his hand slides along my cock, and beyond that I can see his body spread out beneath me. It is a lovely sight... his own release smears his stomach, he is still flushed, still glowing with perspiration, and when I take in his face, his gaze is intent on me and his mouth is slack. I come, hard, it falls across his chest.

"So..." He lights my cigarette for me. "Breakfast sound good?"

"I can have something sent up, though I do not promise it will be any good. You may wish to hide in the bathroom when it comes."

"Probably a good idea." He nods.

I call down to the front desk. There is little choice, with the sole hotel of Teufort, but there is a kitchen. They will send up whatever it is the cook has made, most likely some congealed mess which does not resemble the eggs it claims to be.

Some days I am tempted to storm down to the kitchen myself, at least I can make a decent omelet... It may not be much, but it is more than I can say for the hotel cook.

Still... this weekend, I have other things on my mind. This weekend, whatever they send me will taste fine, as much as I taste anything at all.

After a while of lazing side-by-side, he heads into the bath, and I shove his clothes out of sight before the knock on the door.

"Room service." The voice of the bellhop. I slip into my robe and my balaclava and open the door, and he gives me a conspiratorial leer. "See you ordered two breakfasts, Sir."

"Indeed." I start to give him his customary tip, then double it, and the boy lets out a low whistle.

I close and lock the door after he leaves me with the cart, and take a look at the state of the room.

I should remember to tip the maid double as well... I can't see things becoming any less of a mess in here, and I don't doubt we'll manage to stain a few more surfaces by Sunday evening.

I rap on the door to the bath. "The coast is clear. As I feared, they have sent us 'eggs'."

"What, you don't like eggs?" The Sniper opens the door.

"I do, but..." I gesture to the trays of lumpy yellow-gray. "These are not them. The toast should be safe. Ugh... if you don't 'butter' it."

He shrugs and eats everything on his plate.

"You're too fussy, that's your problem."

"I care about my digestion. I find not swallowing rubber coated in oleo goes a long way towards keeping my digestion happy."

He laughs at that, and moves from his chair on one side of the cart, to the bed on the other, with me. "You don't think you'll be sorry later when you get hungry again?"

"I will be fine." I slip my arms around him and shove the cart away with one foot. It rolls until it hits the chair, anyway. "I will subsist wholly on you..."

"Sure there's enough of me?"

I release him and slide to the floor between his knees. "Oh, cher... more than enough."

"Oh..." He tugs my balaclava off before letting me get down to it. "All right, then... c-carry on..."

His fingers card through my hair, it's lovely really, the stroking along my scalp and the gentle pull, and I enjoy getting him hard again. It has been a brief break, since our last tumble, but enough of one, to start again... and then, well, we shall see how many times we can exhaust ourselves over the course of the weekend.


	5. Chapter 5

The weekend passes more than pleasantly, with my Sniper eager to learn everything that I can teach about giving and receiving pleasure. There were things I had not yet dared to prepare for, but I hope to have other weekends for that. For now...

For now, Saturday night becomes Sunday morning while I straddle his lap again, stroking myself to hardness as I look down at him, at his rapt expression, at his own cock heavy and dark lying on his belly and beginning to weep just from the little stimulation between our groins, from watching me, from running his hand lazily along his chest.

I grind back down against him before lifting myself off.

"Oi, where you think you're going?" He grabs for my waist, tumbles us both down to the mattress with a laugh. "Bloody pricktease..."

"I did not plan on going far," I assure him. "But... if you prefer this position..."

I buck up against him and he groans and pushes our bodies together, pushes me back down, kisses me hard. Now he sits back, kneeling with his ass resting on my thighs, to make me watch him.

"Come for me," I trail my fingers up his thigh, and he grunts and pumps his cock a few more times, until he is spilling out over me. I pull his hand to me, to lick clean. It is not necessary to suck his fingers into my mouth, but I do it.

"'S nice..."

"I am still a mess..." I chuckle. He does not hesitate a moment to lower his head, to lick his own come from my chest and stomach, before sliding down to suck me off. I would not have asked him to-- well, I might have requested the blowjob, I would not have requested the tongue bath. I have been with men who balked at it, even if they had no compunctions with swallowing another man's. It seems like a silly place to draw the line, and perhaps it shouldn't surprise me to find the Sniper errs, if anything, on the side of no hygienical compunctions... And anyway, I do not mind, not at all. The sight of him with come dripping from his lips is arousing no matter whose it is, the feel of his mouth anywhere on my body fantastic.

And, if he was so affected by similar things, I would have no objections to doing the same for him, after all. I would agree to far filthier, to keep him happy in my bed.

"I am exhausted," He collapses next to me, tugs the blanket out from under us and drapes it half over one shoulder. "Think I'm too old to be going at it so bloody much..."

"Nonsense. You couldn't be more than a couple of years older than I am, and besides, everyone must, at least once in his life, spend a weekend in bed making love until he cannot move. It is not as though you could go back in time and have the experience as a younger man."

"Mm. Well, 's pretty fantastic."

I light myself a cigarette, and he steals a drag before placing it back between my lips.

"Cheers." He murmurs, draping an arm across me.

"Thief." I poke him. "De rien, de rien."

"Oi. Sleeping now."

I put the cigarette out in the ashtray by the bed and work an arm under him. I will not fall asleep that way, but for a time... for a time, it is nice, to have him leaned up against me, to hold him near even loosely.

When the sun comes up on Sunday morning proper, we repeat the routine, of ordering room service and of hiding him in the bathroom.

"Tell me something about yourself, something completely inconsequential." I say, uncovering eggs which look exactly like the ones I'd left untouched the day before. "Do you have a favourite film?"

He shrugs. "Don't watch many. Spend most of my time out in the middle of nowhere. Guess I saw a few as a kid. The Overlanders, we went to the cinema for that one. Don't remember much about it. Guess I did see Summer of the Seventeenth Doll, that'd be before I came out here, started working for RED."

"I'm not familiar." I pushed my breakfast aside to lean on the table between us.

"Eh, they put Ernest Borgnine in it and I guess they prettied it up some. Dunno, I didn't go to the theatre much either, so I couldn't tell you what they changed. Just that the lady sitting next to me came out complaining it wasn't like the play. I thought it was fine. But I guess I'll watch anything, if I already paid for the ticket."

"I enjoy the nouvelle vague myself. There is something almost comforting in watching somebody else explore the absurdity of life. And, I liked Vadim's La Curee. Based on the Zola-- ah, not that... not that I suppose it means anything to you... I suppose it was a silly topic to bring up at all, since I don't watch very many films in English."

"Zola's the 'J'Accuse' bloke, right? About the Dreyfus affair?"

I smile, a little grateful for what could be salvaged of the conversation. "Yes. You've read it?"

"Yeah, well, translated, at least a bit of it, someplace... I read a lot when I'm on my own-- or maybe you figured that out, since you gave me a book. I mean, unlike a movie, a book you can take with you anywhere."

"An intellectual as well. Lucky me."

He snorts. "Wouldn't call it 'intellectual'. I don't even know how I found myself reading Zola, you're a lot more likely to find me with the kind of cheap paperback you snuck out of BLU's library, to be honest."

"Still. I am charmed." I clear the breakfast dishes away-- again, his plate clean and mine full of inedible mush-- shove the little cart to the side and spread myself out on the bed. "You could take advantage of that."

He comes to me and begins to slip my robe off, his hands warm on my skin, rough chapped calluses and soft spaces between. "Hmm... well, guess I'm not completely above taking advantage... pretty little thing like you just giving it up to me and all..."

"Don't call me pretty." I roll my eyes.

"Maybe it doesn't quite fit." He allows. "Bloody gorgeous work for you?"

"Mais oui." I wrap my arms about him. 'Gorgeous' had a suitably masculine air to it, or at least not a feminine one. It was, at least, closer to being accurate.


	6. Chapter 6

As Monday looms on our horizon, I cannot help the way 'Ne Me Quitte Pas' runs through my brain, or the way I wish and know better...

As Monday looms on our horizon, and he bathes away the sweat that has soaked into his skin, both his and mine, the Sniper leaves the door ajar, it swings on its hinges once, twice, and stays open, and from where I sit on the bed, I can see bony knees sticking up over the rim of the bathtub, the back or sometimes the top of his head, leaning against that rim, or his elbow resting over the side.

I ache a little. I like the sight of bits of him poking out around the edges of my life. I like sharing my space with someone else. I never used to, I've been alone so much of my life... Perhaps it's just him, then, that I like. And perhaps... perhaps it is foolish to fall in love too quickly, with this man, when we used to be enemies. I don't know how much of the emotion is real, the lasting kind of love. Maybe I only believe I do, because he saved me from that awful refrigerator and because we have fun in bed. Isn't it enough that I hope for the feeling to be real? If it were mere infatuation, would I be so happy to share my bath? I think if it was only fleeting and physical, I would want to keep my toilet to myself.

"What do we do 'til then? Next weekend, I mean." He calls to me, and I can see his face, just barely, in the big mirror.

"What can we do?" I fall back to the bed. Every trip across no-man's land is a risk we can ill afford to keep taking. Even the weekends may be dangerous, but during the week... I should be careful, should keep myself from running to him. Maybe, when the relationship is not so young, it will be easier, to let absences stretch out between us, to laugh when we meet on Friday and say they only make the heart grow fonder. That does not make the thought of this coming week apart any easier to look at.

"I just mean... I mean... No one can know about this. Not your team and not mine. And it'd look better if you take a stab at me now and then."

My stomach turns at the thought. It used to be all fun and games-- as much as war is, and this war more than any other tends to be that way-- to find him on his own, his attention elsewhere. Now, though...

"I cannot." I tell him. "I could not, not since the refrigerator, you know that."

I sit, hoping the bile will not rise so far up in my throat with gravity against it. My arms feel weak and shaky as I lift myself up.

"Well, try not to let on." He says. I watch him, his back to me and his front in the mirror, as he stands in the tub, water dripping down his body, as he reaches for the towel to wipe it away.

Had it been a shower and not a bath, I would take the towel, offer up my services instead, lick the water from his skin... But then, of course, he would never be free of my hotel room... Even with the few clinging bubbles and the film of soap, I'm too much tempted to catch up each drop with my tongue...

I leave the bed to meet him. "And you. Take care." I remind him, kiss his mouth, but only gentle... gentle... There is no time to start something new, and he's just gotten clean, but still, there is room for a little kiss.

"Yeah. Always do." He replies, voice rough, the two of us still so close that his breath warms my cheek when he speaks. "And you."

"Always." I promise. I can barely remember a time in my life when I wasn't careful. I reach back with one foot, to try and pull out the things of his that I had shoved under the bed.

"I like you without the mask, you know." He teases, fingers playing in my hair. I should smack his hand away, perhaps, but I've already let him in... what does it harm?

I kick his shirt up into my hand and give him a warning look-- one can allow some mussing, but to do so without at least a little reprove is too... too sentimental, too sugary. "I like you without a great many things," I tease back. "But you should probably put them all on now."

I watch him gather up his clothes, ogle his ass while he does, enjoy the show as he dresses, his hair still wet, his shirt sticking to his skin in places. I kiss him once more, bending down to catch his lips as he sits on the bed to pull his boots on.

He scans the hall carefully through the peephole before leaving.

Once he is gone, the room seems larger, colder. I sleep, fitful. If I dream, I do not remember. When I wake to see the sun up, I bathe-- the shower needs fixing, I will leave a note at the front desk-- and dress.

I have work, after all. I do not bother ordering breakfast-- it will be too terrible to contemplate, and I must get to the base before the battle begins. It means leaving early, I do not have the time.

Perhaps I will visit him, on the battlements-- only for a moment, only invisible-- but it could be enough, to get me through each day, if I can look on him for a moment between other fights.

Maybe then the week will pass quickly enough, maybe then it can once more be the weekend.


	7. Chapter 7

The pleasures of my continuing revenge against the cursed RED Medic keep me busy enough and happy enough during the working day, but when I am on my own at night, there is some loneliness...

I write him a letter. I write it far sooner than I would have liked to... I wish I could say I held out a little longer, before running to him. I leave the letter, another paperback, zinc oxide snatched from our infirmary. A promise for Thursday night, I feel I can't possibly hold out until Friday night.

My campaign of vengeance is a fine distraction during the days, but the nights I count, and they pass so slowly. The nights, my only distraction is my own hand, and it offers release but no companionship. Funny to think of myself wanting companionship, but I do...

Thursday comes, not soon enough, but it comes. I ignore my duties-- my involvement can hardly make much difference when my team is doing so poorly, anyway-- to sneak to his spot on the battlements, to watch. He hisses out pleased exclamations when his shots hit true, and... and he is something to watch, when he works. The things I want to do to that man now are a million miles removed from the things I used to do to him here...

I expect to be waiting a long time, after work, when I rush to hide in the shadow of his van, my watch keeping me invisible, so long as I hold still. He rather surprises me by arriving before night falls. Then again, perhaps it's just another one of those things we share, our disinclination to spend off-duty hours with our respective teams.

"There you are," I smile. "You didn't keep me waiting long. What will the neighbours say?"

He holds the door for me. "Neighbours won't say a thing. I like my own company. Team knows it. It's fine."

Much as I suspected. I uncloak. "In that respect we are the same. No one will miss me. My team did not even notice that I never respawned and was living in a disembodied state in a RED refrigerator. They will not miss me for half an evening."

I drop my cigarette into his ashtray, though I do not extinguish it. I can pick it up again after...

We share a smile, and he passes me a sandwich. "You want to eat?"

"It's not what I came for." My stomach reminds me that it wouldn't be a bad idea, however. "But if you went to the trouble."

Besides... eating together first... it makes it almost like a date, doesn't it?

"You did well today." I say, unaccountably shy.

"Yeah, guess we were due for a turnaround." He speaks around a mouthful, swallows it halfway through his sentence and ducks his head. Embarrassed over his poor manners? This from the man who keeps and throws his own urine? Hm... cute, if it's the case. And anyway, I have seen worse. I hardly mind if he does talk while he eats, I started the conversation.

But, I will not have him dodging my compliments.

"You. You took our Medic down at just the right moment, you got the Scout before he could get to you..."

"Creeping around watching me again?" He teases.

"It is the nice thing about the new watch." I show it off. "All I have to do is keep still."

"Mine just tells me what time it is."

"Mine does not." Damned inconvenient, actually... "It is the one drawback, none of them do. Well, not important. How may I thank you for dinner?"

He doesn't answer, exactly, but his smile answers mine, and he is pliant and passionate when I pull him down to the bed to kiss.

His mouth still tastes like meat and bread. I have been eating the same, it does not put me off. Not when he is willing to push me down, to meet me with equal force, hold me to the mattress and kiss me like it is the last night of the world and all we have is this, now.

When his hips start to drive against mine, he peels himself away from me to undress. I do the same, but I let his hands be the ones to take the balaclava away, love the feel of his knuckles brushing the side of my throat, the heel of one hand dragging along my cheek. He strips me of my gloves as well, the last thing between skin against skin.

"How do you want me, then?" I am perhaps a little guilty, of posing. Only a little. Nothing awkwardly feminine, but I do know how to set myself to an advantage. I do know how to look wanton, wanting-- it is not hard to look that way, when the feeling is so strong.

Again, his reply is wordless, his face in my lap. I do love my dear strong, silent type-Sniper... love the way he devours me with all his senses. Oh, but he has gotten too good at this... control becomes a hazy and distant memory, a thing of the past that I cannot access when I have him there, when I draw him on and he has to hold me down in the final throes.

He slides up my body afterward, his hand lingering on my thigh, and I kiss him, hungry. It does not matter, that he has just been sucking my cock. I will be doing the same for him soon. To be honest, I prefer the taste of him... my own, I do not mind, it is the same as any other man I have been with. The smell and taste of him drives me wild. Pheromones, I shouldn't wonder.

His cock is hard and hot against my hip, I urge him up, slap him on the ass when he isn't fast enough in bringing his cock to my mouth. He tries to be gentle, at first, but I want him to take me, to use me, to fly apart at the seams from the pleasures of my mouth. When he hesitates, I squeeze his ass and give him a push, permission to thrust. I moan when he does, encouraging. Finally, he loses himself, fists a hand in my hair and goes hard and fast until he's coming.

He takes some time recovering from that... maybe a little wilder than most of what we got up to in my hotel. I light two cigarettes before I remember the one I'd left in his ashtray. No matter. I place his between his lips.

"I should go soon." I say, and I'm sure my reluctance is clear. If not from my tone, from the way my hand lingers on his chest, the way my body lines itself up along his.

"Guess so." The heel of his hand rests on my cheek, his fingers curl back towards my jaw for a moment, touch sliding away. There is something in his eyes, some secret message I cannot yet decode.

"The pied-a-terre... Saturday, if not tomorrow?" I catch his hand before it can fall away from me completely, I kiss his palm. I feel desperate for him, even after all this, and I can't say why. That something secret in his eyes spurring me on now. Making me even more needy. "I'll see you then?"

"Saturday. Tomorrow's too soon, but Saturday." He says. Probably he is right. "I-- You've got the bluest eyes."

It is not what I expected. For a moment-- whether it shows on my face or not I cannot say-- I am shocked right down to the heart of me by the sudden sweetness. He is certainly physically demonstrative, when we are alone together, but the sweet little words he does not employ so often...

Then again, he seems just as surprised as I am. I kiss him quickly-- and with no dearth of feeling-- before I have to dress.

"Saturday." I confirm.

When I slip off into the night this time, I am warm. The world is wonderful. Even being alone for the remainder of the night does not fill me with emptiness, only with anticipation. Saturday we will meet again, another day or even two of lazy talk and sweet lovemaking and terrible meals I won't remember, in light of just enjoying him.

I fall asleep smiling. Smiling so much it feels unnatural, even. The world is mine, and Saturday promises to be... wonderful...


	8. Chapter 8

Saturday... We manage some remarkable restraint, though the air between us is electric, invisible sparks that cross the distance we keep while I lock the door. There are no words.

Once the room is secured, we are on each other. His mouth is hot, slick but not sloppy as he dives into the kiss. We have to pull away from each other, to cross by the window with the broken slats. I push his hands down from the balaclava until we are past-- not because I think the caution is needed, but because these habits, they do not die easily.

He looks at me, with such intensity of longing, and the urge to be taken by him stabs through me hard, burning in the pit of my stomach. The sudden unstoppable thoughts of having him inside me make me tremble. Lucky I am prepared... I had not planned for this exactly, but my plans I keep flexible.

"I..." I offer him the condom I'd had stashed under the pillow. "I have something, if you want..."

"Thought you liked it messy." He crowds up against me, lust shooting through me again at his nearness, his leer, his advantage in height and the breadth of his shoulders as he leans into my space.

"When I am sucking cock, yes." I shrug. And really, I have no objections to making a mess other ways... "Of course, I assume you were subject to the same rigorous health examinations on joining RED as I was upon joining BLU, so it really doesn't bother me if you prefer not to use one, but I find it makes cleaning up easier."

For a moment he says nothing, as I gather the petroleum jelly from the bedside table.

"Of course, we don't have to. I'm sure I can put this to many other uses. But if you wanted to fuck me..."

The way he looks at me now bodes well, at least, though I still get no answer.

"Sniper?" I step back to him, draw him down for a kiss. "How do you want me?"

He takes the petroleum jelly from me and wrenches at the lid. "Show me... how you like it. And I'll do that."

"Good." I smile, kiss the corner of his mouth, his chin. "Good. It will be good, you will like this."

I undress and get on the bed, on my hands and knees, and he sits on the edge of the mattress behind me. I can hear him taking his shirt off, feel his weight leave the bed as he fumbles out of the rest, and he strokes my hip.

"Cover your fingers in it," My head falls forward, and I can see just bits of him, between my own legs. "More than you think you need, a little mess will be fine... Touch me,"

He does, one hand wrapping around my hip, the other, slick, tracing along the cleft of my ass.

"Push in, the pad of the finger. Be careful of the nail."

"Bloody hell..." He breathes.

"You can do it. Go on, go on, I want you..."

He starts too slow, and I reach back for him, to grab his wrist, guide him forward. "Crook your finger just there-- ah! Y-yes... fois, encore. Foutre!"

He stills, but I don't let go of his wrist until I'm sure he does not mean to pull away completely.

"Another... get me ready for you." I say, letting go of his wrist. I need that arm now to hold myself up, anyway. "You can stretch me open more."

He does, and it's fantastic... it has been a long time for me, but not so long that I have to be treated like a thing of glass. Not when he fills me with so much need. I am resting now not on my hands but on my elbows, my hips piston back against his hand as he fingers me open. It's like a kind of torture and I couldn't love it more, the way it is not yet enough to make me come, the way the stretch of two fingers spreading slightly threatens to become pain but only really results in pleasure, and I can feel each drop of sweat that rolls down by back, my upper lip, down my thighs to tickle the backs of my knees. I am more than ready for him now.

"I love you," He says.

It's the first time he has, and I turn my head to try and catch a glimpse of his face, hope I can still find whatever expression accompanied the words.

"Moi aussi, je t'aime." Turning my head pushes me back further onto his fingers, and it is a pleasant side effect of the motion, but I still need more.

He understands, or he needs me just as badly. It is not much longer before he is fucking me, hard, his arms around my waist, his chest pressed into my back. His breath is harsh and hot against my neck and ear, one of his hands is on my chest. I would direct it lower, but I am pushed down on my own arms, could not lift them for the world.

He groans, finishes, slips out. I let myself relax completely, my arms and legs having long threatened to give out, and roll myself onto my back. The moment his hand closes around me, I am coming.

Sniper steals a few drags from my cigarette, once I have the energy and steadiness to light one. I am covered in sweat, dripping in come, too warm where our bodies lean against each other and too cold where they do not. Happy...

"I meant it. About, you know, you." He says, an almost-shyness in the way he looks up at me.

"As did I. About you." I pass the cigarette back to him, mostly for the pleasure of touching his lips, and the way he always smiles, half-smug, whenever I do.


	9. Chapter 9

It is still early Sunday morning when he goes—after a quick tumble between the sheets but before any kind of breakfast. Well, there is a place in town where the food will be better than what the hotel sends up, I can bathe and dress after he is gone, and eat out there.

I catch him at the door, though, before he can slip out, for a final kiss.

“Don’t try sneaking out to our side… not this week.” He kisses me back. “I worry. It gets risky, and… Just don’t want us caught.”

“Very well. If you come to me quick on Friday night. I can wait until then…” I touch his cheek. I wonder how he would look clean-shaven, but I do like the rough feel of stubble… and I like him as he is, rugged and filthy and every inch a professional man of war…

“I ought to go.” He coughs gently.

“Oh, fine.”

He kisses my palm before we separate, and he slips out the door. A little thing, compared to all we’ve done, but such a sweet one…

Before, the time apart had made me anxious, filled me with horrible longing, but now…

Even going all the week without meeting, my mood is light and the world is mine… Maybe it is because before, I had to… to worry, I don’t know. But now… now he’s said he loves me. I believe him—he lacks a certain amount of guile, at least in bed. He does not try to be romantic but he sometimes happens to be by accident, sweet in his inexperience. The physical things he’s learned fast, and all those other little things that make up a relationship…

Those things, I guess, we learn together. I have known too much guile. I have known too much cunning trappings of the romantic, and not enough honest feeling. He’s changed me as much as I have changed him, when it comes to learning about love.

The whole week, I feel fine on the battlefield, back into the easy second-nature stride of the game that I had had before I was unceremoniously removed from my body. Beyond that, I am… I am happy. It spills over into work, and instead of proving a distraction, my improved mood only makes my job easier. I am no longer preoccupied with thoughts of my lover, no longer worried and anxious over the state of us. If I catch a glimpse of him in passing, I feel the same little tingle, but there is no more edge of anxiety.

By the time work ends on Friday, I am elated. I feel like bursting into song, into dancing all the way to the hotel, I feel like walking on air.

I do not, of course, but… maybe I allow a spring in my step and a cheerful whistle.

The whistle dies on my lips when I reach my room to see that he has beaten me there, and that he is clearly upset over something. Frustration and fright, and my mood falls.

“Cher! You… You’re agitated.” I need to get the door open, to get us both inside the room where it will be safe to talk, need to rush without looking like I am rushing. I take a deep breath and try to project calm. “What is it?”

The second I do have the door open, he’s inside, almost to the bed before I’m through the door. I watch as he knocks his hat to the floor pulling at his hair. “Spy…”

I get the door locked. Calm, I have to be calm. If I cannot be, how can I expect him to calm himself? Grow agitated as well and it will only spin even more out of control.

“I was surprised to see you here so soon, but in this state I—“ His pacing is too unsettling, it eats away at my resolve to stay collected, and I catch him by the arm when he passes near me to keep him still. “What is it? Tell me. Tell me.”

“Our Spy. On the roof across the street, last week.” He says, on a shaky exhale.

“You can’t see the bed from there.” I promise him. I had checked the angles on selecting the room in the first place. I knew exactly how far into the room to get before removing my mask, and how far from the door, also invisible from the building across the way.

“No, but you can still see the window. He could still see you, and me, in a room together. He’s got pictures. Wish I could tell you these were them, but—“ He pulls the offending photographs from his vest.

“But he will have others.” I nod. I would—and did. This would not have happened, I’m sure, if it wasn’t for my own hubris… “A cause du moi. I followed him… to see if I could, I suppose. To prove I was better. If he never knew that I had done it, then… Stupid. It seemed important then. And the photographs!”

“They’re not much, but they don’t have to be—“

“No, no, my photographs.” He deserves to know, the reason the other Spy may wish to ruin us. “He sees the mother of our Scout. It is a long-standing arrangement, I think. It is not, strictly speaking, against the rules. Not the way that we are. By now, your employers know?”

“He said they wouldn’t. Imagine he likes holding the threat over us more than he would using it. Power’s gone once he does. But he could.”

That is a relief, at least. “If I bring him the photographs I took? We could trade.”

“He’ll keep the negatives.”

“Then so will I.” I shrug. It’s what I expected.

“He’ll know.”

I sit. “So I will give him the negatives. But I will make one more copy. It may not be as bad as sleeping with the enemy, but sleeping with the enemy’s mother cannot be looked upon with favor. Then we will have insurance. If he goes to someone, then so will you. Until then, he can think he has won.”

I would take the blow to my pride, to spare us worse. Only right, after pride brought me here.

“Maybe.” He sits next to me, our knees touching on the bed. “But it won’t be good enough. Not if… Come after me again. It doesn’t mean anything, but you’ve got to.”

Come after him? Kill him again, after… after all this? The thought makes me feel ill. I always used to sneer at the idea of anything making me weak this way, but now all I can do is tell myself, things are different. He is different.

“I can’t.” I admit.

“It doesn’t mean anything.” He repeats, pulls me hard against him, his arms around me. His cheek is pressed to mine, his breath is warm against my ear, and he smells like the battlefield. “We’ve got to. If I can’t, then he’ll know I… Then he won’t trust me. He’s got to trust me. I can’t if you don’t.”

“I don’t know…” I whisper, my arms coming up around him as well. I understand the thought behind it. He does need to be able to kill me, to keep the other Spy’s trust. And of course I would not hold it against him, that is a necessary part of the ruse and nothing lasting. To be killed, I could manage. To raise my knife against him after the hours he has spent in my bed…

“It doesn’t mean anything…” He says it again, and it’s not that I don’t understand it… “He needs to think this thing between us is… I don’t know, something less than it is. He won’t if we never fight.”

“But I don’t need to kill you…” I point it out. “It doesn’t matter to him what I feel, only what you feel.”

I pull back far enough to meet his eyes. There is a dim reluctance there, a doubt.

“On Monday,” I continue. “I will find you. We will pretend to fight. You can kill me. It will be proof.”

He collapses back onto the bed with a heavy sigh. “Fuck me, I can’t think about that right now.”

“I can do that.” I smile, leaning over him.

“Huh?” He blinks up at me.

“Fuck you.” I put a little growl into the words and watch his pupils darken. “If you like. Mm, would you?”

I kiss his throat, and he nods.

“Yeah.”

I tear my clothes off, and his, our mouths clashing as we strip each other in desperate haste. I get him on the bed, on his stomach, and I kiss along an old scar that crosses his back—too low to be from any blow of mine, even if respawn didn’t remove the marks we leave on each other. Barring the odd glitch in the system, no one gains any scars in this war… But his old scars are fascinating to me, the dangerous life they speak to and the way they accent his body…

My hands stroke along his sides, and my lips continue to explore the skin of his back, but the muscle beneath stays taut. I keep up my campaign of gentle kissing and touching, a little massage until some of his tension bleeds away.

I kiss his shoulder as I dip into the open jar of lubricant, but once I have a finger circling his hole, all the tension comes back.

Another try… I keep one hand on his back, pressure firm but gentle in long strokes, and with the other, I travel down, ignoring his hole for the time being, stroking along the perineum and teasing his balls.

The back-and-forth goes on like that, several more times. I can get him to relax only so much before it is all for naught, before I find myself draped across his back and nibbling at his ear and unable to so much as finger him.

I sit, give his hip a quick tap to indicate he may as well do the same. “You know, not every man enjoys it, even if he likes the attentions of other men.”

He just wiggles his ass in the air. “If you can do it, I can do it.”

I can’t help it, I laugh.

“What?” He looks back over his shoulder at me, sharp.

“You are the only man I have ever met… who felt his masculinity was impugned… by NOT being fucked in the ass!”

“Well, fair’s far. You did it, I could do it.” He says, as though sex is some system of exact exchanges. Fair is indeed fair, but that only means everyone ought to enjoy themselves, not… not this ridiculous idea. Though I suppose I can understand the point of pride… Still, there is a time to stick to that point, and a time to change.

“Maybe you can and maybe you can’t, but tonight we’re not going to.” I roll my eyes and urge him onto his side.

Once I have him like that, I slide in behind him and lift his thigh up, just a little. I already have the petroleum jelly, and it takes far less of it for this… I slick my own cock up, slide into the little space between his thighs.

“This is good, too.” I whisper.

It is, neither as smooth nor as tight as actual penetration, but so much easier to introduce a novice to, and when he squeezes his thighs around me, I swear… I swear it is just as good. We can still press together, my front to his back.

My left arm is trapped under my own body, my hand on his hip. My right arm comes around him, as I bite his shoulder. I grab for his hand, guide him to hold it at the place between his thighs, in the front, so that even as I thrust forward, he is still there around all of me. I keep his hand there with mine—he is hard, but I don’t reach up to stroke him, I want him to stay hard and waiting, want to suck him when I am done.

I bite his shoulder to muffle my groans and squeeze his hip.

“Harder,”

I comply, thrusting with more force, biting down until he makes a strangled sound. It is the sound that undoes me, in the end. Even after spending myself, I still feel so wildly hot for him… Want to do filthy, terrible things with this man… want to come out of the weekend bruised and weak from typhoon lovemaking.

Maybe I just want to get as much as possible into what time we have, in case…

No. The RED Spy does not bear thinking about, not now, not in our bed. I push the worry away, bring his dripping hand up in front of his mouth and lean in to whisper in his ear.

“Lick it, swallow. All of it, be good and I will do that for you…” I croon, refocusing on the thought of going down on that magnificent cock. “You want it, don’t you? My mouth on you, I will be so good to you…”

He puts on a show with no hesitation, licking and sucking the mess from his fingers, his palm. He makes me crazy… and he has to know it. Still, I asked for him to tease me. And I promised to reward him for it. I roll him onto his back and swallow him deep, pull back and lick my way from root to tip only to swallow him down again, this over and over, as I beg for him to fuck my mouth, words I cannot even keep track of every time my mouth is not full with him.

All in all, the acts themselves end too soon, always too soon, but the intensity… the intensity at least makes up for so much brevity. The cigarette I light after is a lifeline, an anchor to keep me from floating away on the tide of it all. He does not speak, but he opens his lips, just so, for me to place a second, lingering as I do… his lips, such a beautiful place to linger, even if it is only for the lighting of a cigarette…

“Monday… you can kill me.” I say. “Please, you said yourself we need to. As you said, it means nothing, it is a necessity. He will trust you more, if you are the one to do it.”

“I’ll look for you, then.” His thumb brushes my cheek. “You won’t even know ‘til it’s over. Painless.”

I hold his hand to my face. “Too many variables that way, don’t you think? It is a nice promise, but if I am uncloaked on the field, where you can see me, I may fall to another before you can line up your shot. I will come to you. We can pretend there was a struggle.”

“It’ll hurt.” He shakes his head, the doubt back in his eyes.

“It always does, but never for long.” I shrug. “If it happens the way you prefer, that is fine, but if it does not, then I will find you and you will… It will not mean anything. It will save us. Nothing you can do will hurt me more than knowing I was this careless, to allow us to be caught.”

“We’ll take turns.” This idea of fairness again. His hand drops. “I’ll go first, but we’ll take turns. It—It could go back to the way it was, it’ll look like it did. And it won’t matter… Most of the time it can be painless. We just won’t avoid each other anymore out there.”

“As you say.” I lay against him. It will be painless, when I take him, at least. I still do not believe we can trust the tide of battle to allow him to snipe me, but I do not mind the kukri, not if it means saving us. Anyway, if he can look to the best case scenario, let him. I can rest easy knowing that when I must kill him, at least those deaths will be without suffering.

He touches my face again, fingertips a light trace over the apple of my cheek, up around the side of my eye, across my forehead. His gaze is unfocused, pensive, towards the ceiling. Eventually, he puts out his cigarette and closes his eyes, but it is a long time before he sleeps.


	10. Chapter 10

Monday I steel myself, all the resolve I can. It will not be hard, to let him kill me, not so hard as it is knowing I will have to do the same. The trouble is to make it convincing.

I do not go to him straight away. I begin the day as any normal working day in the base at Teufort. I rush to the RED intelligence room, sidle in unseen to sap the Sentry and to dispatch of its maker.

And then… then, the intelligence itself is unguarded. A perfect opportunity.

I do not make it far before the alarm sounds, and I drop the intelligence once, on my way to the battlements, when I need to fight the Pyro, and being able to cloak myself proves more useful than retaining any briefcase. Still, once the little fire-mutant is taken care of, I am only a few steps from my Sniper…

I pick up the briefcase once more, in doing so, decloak. “I thought it would be extra convincing, this way.” I say.

“Blimey, give a bloke a heart attack!” He pushes me up against the wall, away from the window where he crouches to take his shots, in the protected section of the RED battlements. One of his hands rests along the strap that holds the intelligence to my back.

“You should recover it.” I prompt him.

“I should.” His forehead rests against mine. His breath is warm… sweet and bitter like dying grass and stale coffee. The coffee at least has a clear explanation…

I tilt my head so that I can kiss him, my lips hitting the line of his jaw, strong and sharp, and his stubble is rough under my teeth, not that with them I am hard. No, I keep my attentions gentle…

“The kukri.” I urge. And then, the perverse thought striking me, “It’s more intimate, don’t you think?”

“I don’t really think about this sort of thing.” He unsheathes it, but there is hesitation screaming in the line of his body.

“After work is over,” I promise, telegraphing urgency as best I can to him. “I will bring you the packet with his photographs. My photographs, I mean. Then you can make the trade. For now… for now, hurry, before someone sees!”

His arm comes up around my waist, as best he can with the briefcase there, and he angles his head towards me, kisses me deep and slow, his body pressing mine back into the corner.

When I come to in respawn, I can feel the ghost of the place where he must have stabbed me, but there is no memory of the pain. More like remembering just a touch, as if it was only his hand on me, but the kiss and his body against mine as I died have left me… somewhat wanting.

I adjust myself and check my equipment—not necessary, but something of a little ritual—and head back onto the battlefield. I don’t go back up to the battlements, I don’t relish taking my turn… I stay to the waterways, mostly, returning to sap the RED Engineer’s handiwork when I can. I even take out the doctor again.

Anyway, I do not need to visit him again during this battle. I promised to meet him tonight. When the whistle blows at the end of the day and we are given our leave, I go immediately to the place where I have hidden the photographs, of the RED Spy with our Scout’s mother. I suppose I cannot fault his choice too much… she looks like a lovely woman, if women are one’s fancy. Though the family resemblance to her son is unfortunate… Still, he seems fond of her. Her good points must make up for her family.

I reach the camper van first. I can see him coming out at a crawling pace, head down. He holds the door for me, comes inside only after I’ve appeared, but this time he wastes no time in locking the door and pouncing.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry…” His head lands on my shoulder, his hand goes to the spot where I had been stabbed through. His shoulders heave, and I hold him, soothe him.

“Don’t be.” I whisper, stroking over his back, over his head. “Never apologize for the necessary, cher… I don’t remember the pain. You know how it sometimes is.”

“Yeah. Yeah, reckon.” He undresses me, the haste is passionate and promising. He works his hand into my shirt, to press again over the place where he had killed me, but he does not linger too long this time, desire has replaced sorrow.

“Do you want the photographs? The envelope…” I go for the jacket he has already removed from me, but his hands stay mine. I hate to spoil the mood, but we have concerns that need addressing…

“Keep ‘em. I… There’s a bit of a snag in the plan.”

“Plan is a generous word for what we had.” I try to remain light-spirited, but the last thing we need is yet another problem… “What is this snag?”

“I told him we weren’t having sex. I told him we were playing baccarat. He wants in.”

“We can work with that. Perhaps if I wager my photographs, he will do the same.” I nod. It is worth the risk, and I think I can win. I didn’t know my Sniper played…

“I don’t know how to play baccarat.” He says. Well, damn. “Everything I know about it comes out of that Peter Sellers movie from a year ago!”

“Vite, cards.” I order. It is time to attack the situation as I would any mission from an employer. To be even-tempered and level-headed, to make a plan and follow it.

He rushes to comply, digging through his things.

“You’d better learn fast.” I say, conversational. “You’re an interesting man to be mixed up with, it’s a pity you’re worth it… I have no choice but to teach.”

And he is worth it, damn him, worth all this trouble and more. I always thought I lacked the capacity, to love with any depth or honesty… Far better for me if it were true, but… But if I had a choice now, I would still choose to love him, I think.

He comes up with a single pack of cards and then stops his search, which I take as a sign he owns only the one.

“Five more decks and we might get somewhere.” I sigh. “No, nevermind. This will have to do tonight, I can explain the rules and the values. Chemin de Fer, I think, not Banque. Chemin de Fer is the gentleman’s baccarat. We can practice properly on Friday night, he believes this game is on Saturday, non?”

“Yeah.” He nods.

I should probably sneak out more frequently, though… If he is to learn by Saturday, one night of proper lessons will not help him much.

Hm… And there are other things I could do, as long as I am sneaking out to meet him…

“Learn well, and I will… reward you.” I promise, making my intent clear. The enticement serves to excite him, but does not preternaturally improve his game…

In fact, several hands go so badly for him that I feel I should sneak out every night of the week to teach him.

I clear the game away with a sigh. It did not go well, but we have a week… And there’s no reason not to have a little fun while I’m here, even if things are not going so well.

“I seem to have won the night.” I point out—not that it needs pointing out, one supposes… “The prize is mine to claim, then.”

“I don’t remember making a wager.” He flirts.

Hard to get? Delicious… I lean back on one elbow and open my legs, taking up as much space on the bed as I please and resting one hand in my lap. Once I have his undivided attention, I rub gently, work myself to slight attention, my eyes on him.

“Had you won,” I say. “I would have eagerly brought you pleasure. I feel it only fair that I receive the same, since you could not win.”

“Well, if the big winner wants me on my knees…” He goes suddenly demure, and the sight of him dropping to his knees, looking up at me the way he is… “Maybe you better win me again Saturday.”

“Saturday we will play with money. I would never allow you to risk playing another man with these stakes…” I growl. The things I would do to any man who dared… Still… when other players are removed, the mental image of his bare ass writhing against the green felt of a card table… bedroom eyes and promises…

“Jealous type?” His hands keep my thighs parted, his face rubs against my crotch. Such a tease in that voice… “Wanna keep me for yourself?”

“Yes,” I grab him and kiss him, kiss him fierce and sharp, claim him. “I found in you a great unspoiled wilderness, mon grand. And I don’t want to share that with any man.”

When his eyes meet mine, they burn, and I unzip my trousers and direct him back down, my hand still fisted in his hair.

He dives right in, and I would tease him for being eager if he didn’t steal all my breath… Eager is good, though, eager is fine… Eager is not enough, I want all the desperation our situation allows, all the dangerous edges… All the hard fucking and abandon.

“Let me feel your teeth,” I say. It is a moment before he does, but it’s so much better. There is so much more he can do with his lips when he is not covering them, and the scrape of them is light, he is still careful, but I love it… he drives me to madness sometimes, things like this enough to make me stupid, to make me delirious…

When I come, and the fog lifts, I see him tucking himself back in, his own release spilt across his hand. Well… For time’s sake, it is just as well, but I hope he did not think that I wouldn’t have reciprocated just over a game of cards…

My vest and blazer are all right, if badly wrinkled, but my shirt is ruined… I try to glare at him, but then he is lighting my cigarette and kissing me. He just has to be so difficult to stay mad at… Then again, an orgasm and a smoke, there is a mellowing effect there as well…

I caress his cheek before cloaking, letting him hold the door for me once more as I slip off into the night.

When I reach my own room, in the BLU base, I am able to sleep, in spite of our troubles. It helps, to have the images of my nights with him flicker past my mind as I drift off… and the purely mental images as well, the new inadvertent fantasy of fucking him in a casino. It had been empty, when I’d first pictured it, but now I imagined taking him on one of the tables at Monte Carlo, claiming him in front of the world. In no way a realistic fantasy, but as fantasies go, it has its charms…


	11. Chapter 11

Between thoughts of my terrible duty and the danger with the RED Spy, the day is a hard one to face. I make my way up to RED’s battlements, though, to the customary spot where I know my Sniper will be waiting.

He notices me, before I can act. Not a surprise, I am too hesitant, and he is expecting me…

“Come on,” He whispers to me. “You’re a professional. And I’ll be just fine.”

“It’s not so easy now. I meant to do it quick.” I promise—for all the good it does—as I lean against him. His shoulders are broader than mine—the cut of my suits gives me some illusory breadth, but he… it is so easy to let him support me like this. To touch his face… “Hell is paved with intentions like these.”

He sucks my fingers into his mouth and I feel myself grow hard, inopportune as it is. “Do me in now and sneak out to the van if you can tonight.” He pulls my hand away from his lips, holds me tight. His voice is low, it does not help my arousal ebb. “Beat me at a few more card games and I’ll pay you out the same. That okay?”

That type of promise certainly does not help. I kiss the back of his head once, quickly, and then I stab. That, at least, kills the untimely erection. I feel ill, sick with myself for having done it no matter how many times I make the rational arguments. Still, I know my own skill. It will have been painless.

I hear the footsteps, but I am filled with too much apathy to cloak myself, and when the Pyro comes around the corner and sees me kneeling over his teammate’s body, he comes to the logical conclusion. I do not fight back, merely let the inevitable happen. I lacked the strength to move quickly enough.

I wake in respawn with the smell of my own burning body thick in my nostrils, it always takes a moment too long to shake it off… But, I wake with a plan. I make my way into the waterways— the RED Scout will take the overland route to reach our intelligence, it will be up to the Heavy or the Soldier to stop him before he can reach the room. I do not care about his movements.

I stay still, stay invisible. This is the path the RED Spy will take, if he wishes to destroy our Engineer’s sentry… He is the one I wish to destroy. I do not have to wait for too long. As soon as he passes me, I sink my knife into him.

“That’s for him.” I whisper. He is already dead, it’s not as though any words I say will damn me further. “And if you threaten the man I love again, it won’t be quick the next time.”

It is the last chance I have for the day, but that is fine. It is the last kill I want to make.

I leave the post-battle meeting as soon as I am able, first to my room to gather up anything I may need, then to my Sniper’s van.

There are no words between us, he lets me in and once the door is locked, I push his vest off, strip his shirt away… We kiss, and he holds me, but it is not enough. I push him to the bed, turn him to lie on his stomach so that I can see.

There is no scar, it is not as though I ever truly believed there would be. Still, I know exactly where I placed the killing blow, and I fall upon it, touch the perfect and unmarred skin there and trace the ghost of the hole I had left. I know the exact dimensions as well. When I bend over him to kiss, I half expect to taste his blood. When it is not there I choke on the lack of it.

“Desole… desole, cher… Mon grand, mon amour… desole, de tout cour desole… un mille fois desole…”

“No apologies. Remember. Your rule, not mine.” He says, words a rumble I feel with my lips as I continue to kiss over his back. “We do what has to be done, it doesn’t change us.”

I straighten and he sits.

“I brought cards.” I pull the six necessary packs from my jacket, open one and shuffle. A refresher course on the basic values would not go amiss. I draw a card, facing him. “What is this worth?”

“It’s a three.” His gaze is unimpressed. “It’s worth three.”

“Bien sur.” I toss it off and make sure to draw a face card. That is where I worry he will trip, the numbers are elementary. A king, perfect. “This one?”

“Nothing. Face cards are worth nothing.”

“He remembers, he remembers.” I pull him into a kiss, sweet and deep… his tongue curves around mine, and for just a second there is a hungry sound… “Tres bien. If I can make it out every night undetected to help you practice, you might not embarrass yourself too badly come Saturday night. You will lose, of course, but perhaps you will lose with some dignity.”

“Yeah.” He waves one hand, a gesture which encompasses the whole of his little home here. “’Cause I’m all about dignity.”

I smirk. “Maybe you can throw piss at him if the game starts going badly.”

He laughs, and I deal.

We play fewer hands this time. I want more time with him, with his body against mine, his mouth against mine. And besides… the torment of having to think of anything else when he is shirtless and perched on the other end of the bed, lean and well-muscled, wiry arms and wiry hair and the pale white line of an old scar, and the way his tan fades, but not entirely…

I trace the line where his sleeve would stop the sun, nowhere near so dramatic as the tan lines left by my balaclava. “Do you take in the sun sometimes?”

“When I’m not with you on the weekends, yeah.” He draws me in and nips at my bottom lip. “Do it in the mornings mostly, when it’s not too hot yet, sun feels nice then.”

“Mm. I have never properly sunbathed.” I admit. “I fear I would look even more ridiculous than I already must.”

“And you being European.” He snorts.

“I should join you, someday. You can drive me out into the desert where no one will find us… we will spread a blanket out and lie naked in the morning sun… It is not exactly the Riviera, but… one makes do. My face might not look so awful, if it could sun a little more evenly…”

“I don’t think it’s awful.” He kisses me, not on the lips, but at the corner of the field of tan around my mouth, where the mask does not cover. “Kinda come to like it.”

He is pale, just where shorts would cover. I wrap a hand around him. “You should take me with you, though, some time. You really need to be completely naked. Imagine, the gentle warm feeling of the morning sun on your face, but all over…”

“If you come with me? Sure.” He slips a hand around to fondle my ass, the other curves around the back of my neck. “I’ll probably stay naked the whole weekend… never get anything done…”

It is all wishful thinking, of course… too much risk, to run off on a weekend camping trip together. But it is a sweet thought still. And maybe some far day in the future our contracts will come up… If that happened, we might do whatever we liked. We might even make it to the Riviera…

No. No, he would not enjoy that so much. Too many crowds. He would be afraid to scandalize them.

Our bodies fit together, slide together, his cock against mine and his body beneath me, his arms around me. We come together, sink down into the bed with loose, lax limbs.

“Cigarette me,” He sighs. I am more than happy to comply. I can only spare a moment with him, before I must dress and go, but it is a fine, sweet moment, one where the film of our combined sweat sticks my cheek to his shoulder and the smell of his smoke sits in the air. One where the mood is content, where our pressing worries can lift, even if it is only for that moment.

He kisses me, before I leave the van, and slips the shared cigarette between my lips.

“You take it.” He smiles, the lazy smile of a man who has enjoyed a good fuck. “Will I see you tomorrow night?”

“Mm… I think so.” I run my hand up his chest. So tempting… I keep wanting to devour him when I should go. “I’ll leave my cards here.”

I make it back to my own base undetected, though once I am inside, I see the Engineer around a corner. Normally he confines himself to his workshop when insomnia strikes, the same with the Medic to his office. Perhaps some peculiarity to men of science, but both are sometimes awake at odd hours. Neither has caught me out of my own room.


	12. Chapter 12

Wednesday’s battle is excellent. I pay no heed to the statistics or to the turning tide. I look to where the RED Spy will be, and I ensure that I am there first, silent, invisible. Waiting.

It is not so different from my dedicated campaign against their Medic, shortly after my release from the refrigerator. If anything it is more satisfying. He never once makes it to our Engineer’s nest to sap a sentry.

Most of his deaths at my hand are fast, but as the end of the day nears, I allow a reckless streak. When I see the barest sign of him, I launch myself, throwing both of us against the wall hard enough to knock the breath from him. I drive my forearm against his throat, so that he cannot draw it again, I grapple for his gun and manage to knock it away, before I take my own knife.

“Bonjour,” I grin, the tip of my blade staring him in the eye, hovering only a centimeter away.

He gasps and growls and bares his teeth. I crush his windpipe.

“Today,” I continue, bringing the knife closer, slowly. “Was fun. I hope you are better at baccarat than you are at staying alive. Saturday, then. Au revoir.”

I drop my hand, quick, pull my arm back from his throat so that I can slash it open. I leave him choking and drowning, I can see the RED Medic just around the corner… no reason why I cannot revisit an old favorite victim, after all… It does not take my fellow Spy long to die, after I leave him. The Medic I dispatch of quickly, and his Heavy after him.

After night falls I shower quickly—the day has left me more a mess than usual—and rush across the empty stretch of land that lies between me and my Sniper.

Baccarat practice goes as usual. He’s made steady improvements, and I do not go easy on him. We cannot afford for me to go easy on him, and besides, he would not appreciate it.

And of course, as usual, the practice puts me on edge. My own fault for concocting ridiculous fantasies, but his fault as well, for the way he watches me deal like he wants to devour me sometimes. One of these days I will tease him, too… Well, perhaps I already do. After all, he already looks at me with this much want.

I begin to put the cards back into their packs. I hear him beginning to undress, but if I look up at him now, I will only send the cards flying… Only when I have put everything away properly. Once I have, I undress as well. When I look back to him, he is already nude and looking back at me, hungry, eyes roving. I let my trousers fall to the floor of the van, step out of them. The one step is all it takes to put me in his orbit and I reach up to rest my hand on his shoulder.

“You’re beautiful,” He breathes, his mouth hangs open after and his gaze turns uncertain.

I smile, the only thing capable of stopping me smiling is his mouth opening mine, twisting me into a kiss. We move to the bed all in a tangle, he bites at my lip.

“Turn around,” I tell him. For a moment he does not, for a moment he only stares down at me, until I grab for his hip and push at his shoulder.

When he does turn, I lift my head, tip back, open my mouth to him. I suck at his balls, run my tongue all around him, hold onto his hips to keep any thrusts lined up with the angle of my mouth and throat. When he finally reciprocates in earnest, it is fantastic… I swallow him down and moan around him as he does the same.

He kisses me afterward and comes away with his own release at the corner of his mouth, and I kiss him again to steal it back. He lights my cigarette and collapses back onto the bed, and I lean against him, still dizzy, still flying… I feel completely disconnected from myself for a moment, watching myself touch him, watching him steal drags from the cigarette he gave me. It is only slowly that I feel myself coming back down, until the hand that spreads itself across his ribcage feels like mine again and my lips no longer buzz and tingle.

“I’ve stopped floating. I suppose that means I should dress.” I sigh.

“Suppose so.” He leans across my body, pressing against me, his arm reaching around on the floor to retrieve my balaclava.

I kiss him, so long as I have him in such a position… He pulls the balaclava over my head, my hands following his. He grabs my gloves, eyes burning into mine as he pulls one onto my hand, then the other. I dress myself, after that, afraid of lingering too long on each other, afraid we might wind up tearing my clothes off again if I allowed that intimacy.

I slip out and hurry back. No one up and about this time to dodge.

Thursday morning, I do not remember my dreams. They may have been of him. They were nothing which left me waking with anxiety, at least. But a lack of bad dreams cannot be confused for a good omen, I do not get far before I am caught out.

My cloak drops as I eliminate the RED Pyro, a lucky blow I was able to land when he was busy checking the wrong direction, but the RED Scout was too close, leaping from the battlements during my moment of vulnerability. He hits me across the face with the bat before I can disguise myself or cloak again, my vision blurs. A wrong step backwards twists my ankle. Another blow from the bat and my ribs crack.

There is a sharp pain, it is hard to draw breath… The boy dances back, I can hear his laugh, though it rings and echoes badly in my ears. I cannot keep track of him, I fire blindly out of desperation and am surprised to hear no more laughter, but a heavy thud.

Ah, the Ambassador… it pays for itself, truly…

My wounds are mortal, without swift care. I will never reach my own team’s Medic in time… Not with the whole of the battlefield likely between us, I can hear the Heavy on the bridge and I think they are together.

I head for my Sniper’s spot along the RED battlements. First aid kits often litter the field, but I am not lucky enough to happen across any in my short trip. I am not coming by the right path to find one.

He turns, and I can see his reaction, shock and worry.

“Your Scout is dead. Myself, I am close. The kill could be yours. Rather you than him.” I offer, limping a step closer.

He ushers me carefully back into the corner, his hands are gentle on me. “Bit sick, isn’t it?”

“You would get the credit, though,” I point out. “And he wouldn’t.”

He speaks, but my head is fuzzy again. I can’t draw enough air to clear it, I can’t understand.

“Qu’est-ce c’est?”

“At the same time.” This time I hear, without the pounding echo, this time the English words don’t seem so strange. They shouldn’t seem strange, I have been fluent for years. His arms wrap around me, supporting my sagging weight. “It’ll look like a good struggle if anyone finds us before the bodies go. On three, yeah?”

“D’ac.” I gasp. I listen to him count. My arm trembles as I bring it up, my hand is half numb around my knife but I rest against him and draw all the strength I can into the killing blow.

When his kukri slides into me, I am already so far gone I barely feel it.

That night I do not bother to get out the cards. I do not even bother to try making myself more presentable before going to him. I only need him, and I need all of him. And I hate myself… I cannot stand myself. I want to think this could all be over someday, I want to think that in the future things might leave us free to just be with each other, properly, like normal people. I do not live in a world where I have the luxury, I have to spend my days murdering my lover and my nights trying like mad to forget it in his body.

I pet him with shaking hands in the afterglow. “If we’re not careful, I’m going to start getting off on this.”

“Sex?” He snorts and takes the cigarette. “If you’re not getting off on it now, I’m doing something wrong.”

“Out there.” I cannot bring myself to find much amusement in his joke. “You hold me close, kiss me even, push into me. Like a lover… That is stupid, of course you are, but I mean…”

I cannot put my words in order, I cannot force myself to make sense. He gentles me through the long pause, his arm slipping around me. There is no judgment in the way he watches the ceiling as he waits for me to speak.

“I never remember the pain, but I remember other things…” I continue, strange desperation rebuilding itself in me. “I remember the way you smell. It is not hard to come to you. If you promise me it is the same for you, then it will not be so hard to have to kill you. If it’s the same.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.” He squeezes me. It will never be easy, but if I can just believe that those deaths are easy ones for him, or even better than easy… “Over before it hurts anyway. Any time you want to come sneaking up behind me, you go right on ahead. You can whisper something naughty in my ear, send me off with a smile.”

“We are sick.” I sigh, hold fast to him. “I didn’t want us to be like this… I wanted things to be gentle.”

“They are. Sometimes. Hey, we try.”

Try… What good is it that we try, when this is what it comes to? I wanted a little respite from the war with him. I wanted to teach him to make love, I wanted to learn… I don’t know, learn whatever he had to teach me. I wanted so many things, but in the end there was no keeping that life separate. And now I find myself feeling the thrill of arousal whenever he is ready to run me through, and maybe that is one thing, but if I ever grew to fetishize the other side… to enjoy sinking my own blade into him… That I do not think I could stand.

But he expects me to say something, to agree. For him, at least, I could try to be less morbid.

“We can only try. On the weekends…” I smile at him. “The weekends one could almost forget about the war. And… and I do like things, even when they are rough. Very much.”

After all, despite my protests in favor of gentleness, I never meant to suggest I did not enjoy my sex rough sometimes.

He smirks at me, his thumb tracing the bite he had left on my shoulder. “Never woulda guessed, mate.”

I laugh. For all my melancholy, I suddenly cannot help it. “Yes. I love your reckless abandon and your horrible teeth.”

He pouts at me and I kiss him. He kisses back. It is hard, but it is sweet. His hands roam over my back, soothing the long scratches he’d left, not so different from the ones I’d left on him, and I melt into his touch.

No… I can bear killing him, if I take my pains, to be painless. And I can enjoy the big deaths he deals me as well as the little ones, if he always puts his arms around me, before it happens… But I will never relish killing him. It can never match the moments like these. Not even if we both go at once.


	13. Chapter 13

Friday night there are no restrictions upon our time. It is after midnight before we start to make love, but at least now that means nothing. We can still take our time together, and fall asleep together.

He stops in the middle of kissing me to indulge in a fit of melancholy. Worry over tomorrow, I suppose, but I was enjoying being kissed… and enjoying the thought of what might happen from there.

“What the hell am I supposed to call you?” He collapses on me.

“Quoi?” I play with the hair I’d been putting into disarray during the kisses, and do not even realize for a moment that I had lapsed out of English. Still, it doesn’t seem to matter, he lifts his head to answer me.

“Tomorrow. I can’t call the both of you ‘Spy’, that’s confusing… Can’t call you anything else, that’s…”

He trails off, and I cannot offer up my true name, knowing it would be a thousand times more damning than any picture, even a revealing one. I could, I suppose, I could whisper it to him sometime after this, in secret. But not now.

“Blue. It is what you might both likely call me. After all, I will be the only one present from my team. And you are the only sniper. That makes everything neat.” I answer.

“Sure.” He snorts.

Yes. Neat. Neat except for the way the stormclouds seem to gather and the way my thoughts go dark and the fears that grip at me the closer tomorrow comes… Neat except for all of that.

“If we can pull this off…” I slip my arm more firm around his shoulders and try my best to give an air of reassurance.

“Do everything I can. Wanna hold onto you.” He turns into me, his mouth presses to my chest. “Doesn’t matter what gets thrown at us.”

“And what will we do, if the war ever ends? You will still hold onto me then?” I hate myself for even asking. For now he can say he loves me, but I know that I could be a war-time thing. A risky one, yes, but I have not been primed for happy endings in my life.

For a moment he says nothing. Maybe it is better than a lie, I do not know…

“Can’t I?” He finally lifts his head, lifts his eyes to mine. He seems unsure, but not un-genuine. I love that about him… he has that honesty. Granted, through most of our acquaintance, it was the kind of honesty that came with sneering insults and mortal injury, but even then I treasured honesty where I could get it, even in an enemy. Perhaps especially in an enemy. A lifetime of subterfuge turns every undisguised hostility into a sort of gift in itself.

“Mais oui, absolutement.” I cup his cheek. “And I to you, and I to you. Would you follow me to France, if it ends, if I asked you?”

Again, I could kick myself for asking. It feels as though we know each other fairly well, and the way we need to sneak around to see each other makes it seem as if we have been like this for so long, but in reality… in reality it could be far too soon even to joke.

“You asking me?” Even without guile, and even with my skills, I cannot read his eyes. He lives within my blind spot sometimes.

“A hypothetical.” I cover. Something to talk about if the future ever really comes, and not the desperate offer of a lovesick lunatic.

“Dunno.” He shrugs. “How would it look, two of us living together?”

“Not so strange. Some might guess, but whether they like it or not is their own problem and not ours. But many would not assume, just from that. There are other reasons for two men to share living quarters. And we would not have to be in the city, where your arrangements are the business of so many neighbours. Why? What would it be like if I followed you to Australia? I would…”

“No!” Suddenly he is sitting. Suddenly his body no longer touches mine.

Too much, too soon, too stupid…

Except… This isn’t the rejection of a man who merely needs his space.

“Cher?” I sit up as well. I do not touch him, not yet, just in case… I could misread the situation. It could be that he’s bridled at the thought of my post-war clinginess.

“I mean, we couldn’t.” He sounds sheepish, and angry, and sad. Most of all, very far away. Only the embarrassment over his outburst is in the room with us, the rest is all… something, I don’t know what.

“All right.” I placate. If I am not the cause of the anger or the sadness, then there is little I can do for the time being but let it rest and trust that he will either elaborate or be all right on his own without any of my counsel.

“It’s illegal.”

Illegal. That explains some things. His initial reactions to me, his inexperience, his objection just now. He views loving me as illegal.

Well. I am halfway amused, even as I’m mad at the idea. I have been a thief and a saboteur, we are both killers, this is fine, but loving me is illegal and that… that is just…

“That’s incredibly stupid,” I point out. “But all right. Not that you would be making a criminal out of me, I’m sure I’ve broken better laws than that, but all right.”

“And the neighbours don’t just sniff and turn their noses up at you and cross the street to avoid you if they don’t like it.” His tone goes dark.

“Oh, violence.” Mine remains light. I drag him back down to the bed and to me. “Not that I am afraid of these hypothetical neighbours, against two men of our skill, but I would be happier anyway to take you home to France, when the war ends.”

“If it does.”

“I’ve spoiled your night.” My arms around him loosen. His melancholy spills back over into me. “I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have asked, had I known…”

“Forget it.”

“Sleep… Just sleep, mon grand.” We rearrange ourselves, to lie more comfortably, nobody cutting off anyone’s circulation and the blanket I pull over us. I whisper in his ear the rest. “And if the war never ends, we will never have to worry about where to go, we will just meet each other in secret as we have. And I will always be so hungry to be near you… and I will whisper to you in the darkness where even moonlight does not reach, and I will hold you, and I will love you… So sleep.”

It is another half an hour, but I follow him into slumber, and when I wake, his arm is around me and his arousal is unmistakable.

“Do you want some assistance with that?” I slip my hand down between us to wrap around him. He moans into my shoulder and I fondle him completely without shame, making a few breathy sounds of my own.

I love all the little ways he comes undone, whenever I make my pleasure in him evident, and I do know how to take my pleasure… I take my pleasure from everything we do in bed together, even those things with no ‘real’ benefit to me. It’s the key, I think. Pleasure in all things, even the simplest. The smallest touch of his hand against me, when he paws at my chest or my arm as he thrusts into my fist, even that is exciting, particularly when viewed as the prelude to something greater… And the feel of his cock, oh yes, that, hard and hot and insistent in my grip…

I enjoy re-exploring him completely with one hand—the angle of our bodies together and the hold he has on me means I cannot watch my work, but to feel him out blind is fun. I adore the way his whole body shudders and the broken ‘fuck’ that escapes his lips and smothers itself on my shoulder when he comes.

He pulls me up to straddle him. No surprise to learn he is a very visual man, of course… I hardly mind. He likes the vantage point, likes to watch me touch myself and to watch his hands on me. He likes to watch me suck on my fingers, likes to watch my face as he pleases me.

“Yeah, that’s good…” He growls, his one hand grips my hip hard, the other strokes me hard and fast now. “That’s good, you like that…”

“Oui…” I can feel it building… if he tells me to come now, I will… As much as I know he likes to look at me, I think he knows I love his voice… especially low and rough. It does not even have to be words, every sound that man makes drives me wild, but… merde, all he has to do is talk dirty to me now and I will…

“Close, darlin’? You wanna come for me? You wanna come all over me?”

I do, and even after I’ve come, he groans and touches me, a few soft and slow strokes as I pant to recover breath.

We lie together for a while. I can see the clock from the bed, it is early yet. I had first moved to lick his chest clean, but he had only pulled me into a kiss and then to lie against him, and even now as I watch the hand of the clock touch the seven, dwindling cigarette hanging from my lips, he is still a mess…

He takes one last drag from the last of the cigarette before placing it in the ashtray, and I slide my hand up his side, and my foot up his calf.

“The hotel manager had my showerhead fixed during the week, if you don’t want to bother with the tub.”

“Uh huh.”

At length he sits, rolls his shoulders and his neck with a moan.

It is the moan that decides me. As recently as we’ve indulged, I still cannot help myself. I follow him to the shower…


	14. Chapter 14

After the shower—and the round of exercise we get in there—we speak a few more words, about the game to come, about our plans. I let him go then, and wait.

While he is gone, I straighten. Remove all the little traces of him and the passions we’d shared in the room, in the bed. When I am satisfied with the lack of hard evidence, I make my call down to the front desk.

“I need you to send two chairs up to room three-oh-two.” I say, without preamble. “I am expecting company for a friendly game of cards. If it’s at all possible in this depressing little burg, a good bottle of wine and actual wineglasses to drink it from. Can you manage this?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Like that, the phone call is done. I prepare a note to the Sniper for later as I wait for the delivery, and I tip the boys who carry it all up handsomely enough. I am always prompt and generous in payment, something that more than makes up for the fact that I have no name, no face, and an admittedly dangerous profession.

I do not have a long wait, before I hear voices in the hallway, the knock on the door.

“Gentlemen.” I sweep the door open and gesture them in. “Shall we?”

“Merci.” The RED Spy inclines his head to me, a little wary, but he accepts his seat, just as my Sniper collapses into his own.

“Let’s get this show on the road.” He says, tipping the brim of his hat back enough to smirk in my direction.

I take the third seat and reach for my cigarette case. With one hand I flip it open, the other hand reaches after my lighter.

“Cigarette?” I make the offer first to our guest. “You’re a Gauloises man?”

“I prefer the low tar. I have my own.”

“Of course.” I ought to know, I suppose. The cigarettes I smoked while stuck in that hellish refrigerator were all taken from him. “I prefer Sobranie myself. I suppose I keep buying the Gauloises also out of a sense of patriotism…”

I wonder if he really prefers the low tar, or if it is only the box, a sense of perverse humour or corporate loyalty on top of his own patriotic streak—or maybe he just prefers the blend. Maybe he prefers the blend and the low tar. Maybe I over-think these things.

I pour the wine as the others light their own cigarettes, pass the glasses to them and shuffle the decks. The RED Spy sniffs at his glass—it could be the move of a connoisseur, or it could be suspicion. I take a whiff as well for the bouquet—acceptable, if not overly pleasing—and make a show of swallowing some. It would be rude to say the wine is not poisoned—even if I know that he may suspect it, one doesn’t acknowledge such things.

Still, it is early in the day and in the game to drink much more than a sip here and there.

The RED Spy’s company is not abhorrent, no matter how I feel about the circumstances. It is a pleasure to play a good game of baccarat with a skilled opponent, and there is something to be said for spending time with a fellow countryman. I do not lapse into speaking French, I would rather my Sniper be as aware of every turn of the conversation as I, but… the RED Spy is also a fan of Brel.

“If you’re drunk enough to start a sing-along,” My Sniper rolls his eyes. “I might just be able to turn my luck around.”

“Dream on, bushman.” I refill his wineglass and try not to let my gaze linger too long on him. “And drink up.”

“You don’t need to get him drunk to take advantage of him.”

I entertain a series of brief visions, all revolving around stabbing the RED Spy. Across the table from me, I see my Sniper freeze.

“He is hemorrhaging money.” The Spy says airily.

“So.” I turn to him. “Tell me, when you are not working, have you any hobbies?”

“Hobbies? Ordinary things, I suppose. Why? Yourself?”

“Oh, you know.” I relax back into my chair and spread myself out, a clear position of power at the card table as I reach for the pictures in my jacket pocket. “I enjoy amateur photography.”

“Fils de pute!” He spits.

I grin. A man cannot be held accountable, when offered such a straight line. “I’ll tell our Scout you mentioned him.”

The second the words click in his mind, he is halfway across the table, knocking his wineglass over in his haste to strangle me. “You bastard, you swine!”

“Hey now. You wanna get us booted out of this hotel?” My Sniper holds him back. “Let’s try not to kill anybody, c’mon.”

“The photographs are all there—barring the ones you took away with you.” I toss the envelope down. “I was surprised you did not recover the rest, but it would hardly have mattered. You’ll find duplicates. I thought it would make the game more interesting, to wager these. How much would they be worth to you? A thousand?”

“Yes, fine, a thousand. It does not matter, I am not going to lose. They are all there?”

“You may inspect them, if you wish.” I wave a hand.

I am not surprised when he takes me up on that offer. I discreetly count the money he has placed on the table—the amount does not matter, the real stakes here are appearances, and I need to be as suspicious and as invested as he. I will throw this hand if need be, for the greater good, but he has to think I want his money.

Besides… aside from this one hand, I do want his money… Why not take him for what he has, as long as we are here?

He even glares at my Sniper, during his inspection of the photographs, and my Sniper is suitably amused and dismissive.

“Hey, mate, I’m not interested in any pictures of your scrawny, hairy arse, no matter how pretty the sheila in ‘em is.”

Well. Of course, I know his interest in the ‘sheilas’ is negligible. I suspect, with the RED Spy’s general build, that he is actually not so different from myself in the ass department… not that I want my lover interested in someone else, but, scrawny and hairy have never put him off in the time I’ve known him. He actually managed to lie well, I’m pleased he can.

“Bien sur.” The RED Spy’s hands still shake as he puts the pictures back. I have rattled him well, it is almost too bad I want him to win this hand, it would be so easy to beat him in this state. “All there is?”

“All there is.” I assure him.

“The negatives?”

“No.” I grin. He may be pleasant enough company over cards, but that does not mean I have any warm feelings for him. I want to rake him over the coals and see him squirm. “Not this time. I enjoy being behind the camera, much more than I enjoy playing the model. If you want the chance to win the negatives, you must come back next week to wager your own work. After all, I would hate for those pictures to somehow work their way back to my employers. I understand how it would give some the… wrong idea, you understand?”

“I understand.” He says, but it is clear he detests it.

“Good. Then next week will be interesting as well.”

He accepts his good luck, when he wins the photographs. More hands after that one, until it is late. We all stand together, and I escort them to the door like a good host. With my hand in my pocket, I slip out of my wristwatch and wrap the note I had written before around it.

“Gentlemen. Goodnight.” I shake hands with the RED Spy. His hatred for me is clear in his grip and in his glare, and I smile as sweetly as I know how and watch how it only infuriates him the more.

I shake hands as well with my Sniper, the trick being not to linger any longer than with my fellow Spy, but I take the opportunity to place both watch and explanation in his pocket, unseen. Then I wait.

Soon he is back outside my door.

“How’d you get into my pocket?” He demands.

“I am very good at getting into your pockets.” I remind him with a grin. I pull him into the room and place his wineglass in his hand.

“Here’s your watch.”

“Hang onto it.” I shake my head. “The new one is better, and you may need it next weekend. Next weekend, he will bring the photos… After that, we could be free.”

“Don’t talk about that now.” His free hand goes to the small of my back and he reels me in fast and kisses me hard.

I am half hard by the time the kiss is through, fully hard after the second. By the third, achingly so…

“Want you,” He says, and I am in no mood to argue the sentiment, or the way his lips slide along my jaw as he nuzzles my cheek.

“Mm, cher? Want me to what?” I laugh softly—perhaps more wine than I had meant to drink... He is so pliant in my arms, it is cake to get him half undressed.

“That time… that time with the, uh… The time I—With the Vaseline and, you… and I…” He struggles.

“Fucked me?” I offer. As adorable as his shyness can be, there are limits. Eventually you have to take pity on the poor man… Besides, the way he reddens when I say the words is just as amusing.

“Yeah. That. Did you… did you like that?”

I lead him to the bed and spread myself out for him. “I am not in the habit of asking for things I do not like. I enjoy it, but not often. Still, even if the need does not take me, I could find it enjoyable, as long as I have a sexy partner who is keen to…”

“No, I… I wanted to try it. I mean, try—I mean…”

I lever myself up on an elbow to regard him. “This idea of ‘fairness’ you seem to have?”

“Well, I was tense then. Things are a bit different now.”

“Don’t get defensive.” I push myself off the bed to grab for his discarded wine, still only half-drained. “Drink. Then I will… relax you. Then we can see how you enjoy it.”

He finishes his glass—and I fetch the Vaseline from the nightstand-- while I watch him drink, the bob of his throat and the deep claret wetness that clings to his lip after. I tip the last of the wine into his glass, let the bottle go by the wayside so that I can work my hand into his pants. Once the wine is gone, I kiss him again, and it is a shame that he is only half naked, so I correct that as well, shameless groping along the way. He strips me as well, touches me. Finally, I get him down onto the bed.

“Trust me,” I slip down to the foot of the bed. He says nothing, but he opens his legs.

I get the jar open with one hand, as I begin going down on him. One hand free to fondle that ass as I suck. As he grows closer, I start to move in towards him. I want to be sure he is as relaxed as possible, has enjoyed himself as much as possible, before moving forward. I stroke across the hole as he seems to get close, and then I am swallowing his release and pushing in.

“Good, good…” I stroke inside him, admire him as I do. “Beautiful. Look at you, spread out for me this way. You must believe I will be good to you… I will, cher, I will. When you are being mine, I will make everything good, yes? Touch you, the way no other man has touched you. They do not know what they are missing… how perfect your body is. I could live on you, I want to breathe only you… My whole world is you.” I promise.

I hope it is all true, at least. I want him to love it, even if, like me, he does not love it very often. Even if it is only the one time, I want him to love it. Honestly, I would be happy with just the one time, if that one time is good for us both… I enjoy the rest of him too much to insist on any one thing.

When he nods to me, even wordless, it’s clear enough. I’ve been opening him, slowly and gently, but for a while, and if he feels ready, then we are ready.

He is just a little tense, when I push into him. I hold him, kiss his neck, and he relaxes enough for me to go deeper. He is tight and I am tipsy and it is over too quick, but maybe for a first time, that is best. He moans once or twice, a good sign, and I babble breathy sweet nothings as I come, words I cannot keep track of in languages I cannot keep separate.

He is still after… and quiet.

“Cher? Ca va?”

“Dunno.” He says, and nothing more. Times like this, I wish I could read his thoughts…

I light my cigarette. “If you do not enjoy it, we will not do it again.”

“Guess I wouldn’t do it often.” He shrugs. “Except…”

“Mm?” I lie back down beside him and touch his chest.

“Nah, it’s nothing.” He says.

“If you like.” I say. He can tell me when he is ready, if there is anything to tell.


	15. Chapter 15

Thursday is when I have an idea so simple I could hate myself for not having it sooner—especially knowing how much he would prefer being able to take me out with a clean shot—and I disguise myself as him before I make my way back across the battlefield. His teammates may ignore me—after all, while he rarely leaves the battlements, there are times when too many men are down and the intelligence lies between camps, other reasons for him to, on rare occasions, come down from his perch…

I don the disguise from within the RED base, my plan being to cross from their side to our own as him. It seems the least suspicious way. I still give his teammates a wide berth, try to look focused on a destination and a goal. When I wake up in respawn, it is from a clean kill I could not have seen coming.

Friday neither of us kills the other. I slip away early to reach the hotel. I plan on showering there, instead of at the base, but I call down to the front desk first—this weekend, they do not have an acceptable wine selection—and before I can even undress, there is a commotion in the hall. It is not loud, but I am trained to alert myself to subtler dangers as well.

Through the peephole I can see the RED Spy. The angle is poor, but I can see my Sniper against the door—pushed? He can’t have been stabbed, there is no friendly fire—unless… Unless somehow there is? I wrench the door open.

“I thought I heard an argument…?” I stop short as my Sniper pulls himself up and turns. He does not seem hurt… at least he was not hurt. How he could have been, I still do not know, only that moment of fear when I was sure it was the only explanation. Well, whatever the case, this cannot be hashed out with any potential for an audience. “Ah. Perhaps you gentlemen had best both come in.”

I had asked to keep the furniture, expecting the RED Spy back on Saturday, but one of the chairs was removed regardless. I thought I would have until tomorrow to order it back. The unexpected change has thrown me for something of a loop, but I do my best to remain calm, at least on the surface. I wave the two of them to the chairs that remain and sit on the bed.

“Now. What is this about?” I ask, keeping my manner brisk, businesslike. “Have we decided to move up the date of the game? Surely someone might have informed me, after all, we are neighbors…”

“I cannot speak for my associate,” The Spy smirks at me. “But I came for my negatives.”

“My price?”

He draws out a packet, and it contains everything, photographs and negatives.

“Bien.” I take the negatives from the safe. “You have kept no copies?”

“No. No… I—do not want them.” He says, and it does not sound like a likely lie, though of course I expected a lie. This sounds like the truth, and that I cannot comprehend. “They seem… comparatively poor leverage. And you?”

That last sounded like a lie, at least. Why, I could not say. Still, I can answer his question. “No, though I cannot speak for my team—Some of the photographs left my possession. It is possible the boy destroyed them, though.”

“Ah. Yes. The boy.” He frowns and becomes uneasy in his seat.

I had lied, of course, but I would do nothing with the copies I had on hand, unless threatened. I could even destroy them myself, once I know we are safe. I will have no need of them then, and I just do not know what to believe about the RED Spy’s sudden strange behavior.

“Well.” I rise. “If you do not mind waiting, I was not expecting you until tomorrow. I have not put anything up, but I can easily obtain another bottle of wine, if you care to drink on our… little truce?”

“I will wait.” He shrugs. “I’m sure that my compatriot and I have much to discuss, while you run your errand.”

That, I do not like, but… it should not worry me so much. Why shouldn’t two co-workers speak with each other in my absence?

Still, I hurry as quickly as I can. The little store is not far from the hotel, and not too busy. Of course, the wine is still not what I would call good, but it will do.

I return to the room to find my Sniper sitting alone. I change my grip on the wine bottle and cast about for any sign of an invisible foe. My blood is suddenly pounding, I have no idea where to turn, what to think.

“He’s gone.” Sniper grabs me by the shoulders, hard.

“He’s gone?” I feel myself come back a little to earth.

“He doesn’t plan on coming back. Although we should get new blinds put up in here, ‘cause he didn’t promise he wouldn’t. But he doesn’t plan to.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” I say. I truly don’t. And I had been after the hotel to replace the blinds since I began staying here, though unlike with the shower, I have had no success.

“It’s not really forgiveness… just… As long as I’m a team player, he’s got no reason to rat on me. That’s all.” He says.

“I see. Well. You’ll have a glass of wine with me?” I ask, hoping to recover my composure. I do at least still have the glasses…

“Any old time you like. No place else I got to be tonight.” He grins at me, throwing himself down on the bed.

I stalk over to him, grabbing two glasses up on the way. I hand them to him so that I can open the bottle, pour out a good measure. He spills a small amount onto his shirt moving the glass while I pour.

“Oops.” He smirks.

I place the bottle on the nightstand and lower my head, sucking at the darker red spot. I raise my own glass to his lips, tilt. In return, he places his glass against mine, but I stay his hand.

“If you’re going to be clumsy, I ought to just take my things off ahead of time. To avoid… getting any stains.”

“I might be real clumsy.” He agrees. “And you wearing a white shirt. Oughtta get that off right away.”

I stand, and he holds my glass while I strip, slowly, out of my suit, my shirt and tie, my underthings. When I rejoin him on the bed, he is still completely dressed, and I am wearing nothing past my socks. Well, the gloves and balaclava remain also, he likes to remove those himself…

I take my glass back and tilt another mouthful of wine into him, kiss his lips after he has swallowed to chase down the taste. He reaches down and snaps my sock garter against my calf.

“Stop that.” I chide.

“Couldn’t figure out a way to make taking those off sexy?” He teases.

I steal his wineglass and take a sip, before setting both glasses aside. He lifts my hand to his mouth, pulls my glove off finger by finger with his teeth, only to repeat the process on the other side. I strip away his clothes, before he removes the mask and we are both completely bare.

“I love you,” He places his palm against my face, the feel of his skin against mine with nothing between us is lovely, and the way he looks up at me lovelier.

“And I also, I love you.” I kiss him. I melt against him. His other hand slides up my naked back and our bodies touch, from my lips on his all the way down, to his foot sliding against mine. And halfway between, he is hard against me, I am hard against him…

I thrust against him, spread my legs so that I can grind down on him further, straddling him. His hands travel over me everywhere. His mouth is fantastic.

“So good,” He grunts, fingers digging into my hips as his own buck up.

“You…” I gasp and cling to him. The rest is lost to me. The rest is unnecessary. It takes only one word, after all, to describe what it is I love best. “You…”

We both come, near to the same time, and I roll off of him. He downs the last of one of the glasses of wine from the nightstand, as I light a cigarette. Just one this time, I have grown used to sharing, and I only really feel the need for half of one, now…

After a moment or so to cool down, I drape myself back across him. There is something so comforting in being able to rest against his chest… and it is a very nice chest. He takes the cigarette from me, just before the ash can fall onto him, takes a long drag and drops it into the ashtray.

“Suppose I wasn’t done with that?” I murmur.

“Too bad.” He rolls me onto my back, his arms around me. Too soon for another go, but I can still enjoy the close contact, and the playful grin he gives me. “Know what I’m not done with?”

“Mm… what?”

“Give you three guesses and the first two don’t count.” He nuzzles my neck, I can feel him breathing in deep as he slides down. He nibbles at my collarbone and runs his hand along my arm, raising it up until our hands hit the headboard and our fingers tangle together.

I sigh and stretch out beneath him. His attentions are soft and lazy, perfect for an interlude between making love for the first time in an evening and then again. More nibbling kisses, along my arm or across my chest. I can feel the flash of his tongue or his teeth against me, and more snuffling deep inhales.

I hook one leg up around him and kiss his ear. “I hope you are never done…”

“Never will be. Every time we do it… you get all sweaty and strung out and I just want to do it again…”

“… Oh.” His teeth graze my nipple this time and I moan. “Spend all weekend tormenting me…”

“Shouldn’t.” He says, but he slips one hand down to fondle between my legs, and I find myself hardening already. “Probably will.”

In the end, he stays through Sunday night.


End file.
